AN    INTRODUCTION   TO   THE   PROSE 
AND   POETICAL    WORKS   OF 

JOHN    MILTON 


?&&& 


AN    INTRODUCTION 


PROSE    AND    POETICAL   WORKS 


JOHN   MILTON 

Comprising  all  the  Autobiographic  Passages  in  his  Works,  the  more  Explicit 
Presentations  of  his  Ideas  of  True  Liberty 

COM  US,  LYCIDAS,  and  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

With  Notes  and  Forewords 

BY 

HIRAM    CORSON,    LL.D. 

Professor  of  English  Literature  in  the  Cornell  University 


Nefo  fg0tfc 
THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:   MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 
1899 

All  rights  reserved 


0i 


& 


7266$, 


Copyright,  1899, 
By  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


J.  S.  Cushing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


Servant  of  God,  well  done  !     Well  hast  thou  fought 

The  better  fight,  who  single  hast  maintained 

Against  revolted  multitudes  the  cause 

Of  truth,  in  word  mightier  than  they  in  arms, 

And  for  the  testimony  of  truth  hast  borne 

Universal  reproach,  far  worse  to  bear 

Than  violence;  for  this  was  all  thy  care  — 

To  stand  approved  in  sight  of  God,  though  worlds 

Judged  thee  perverse.' 

—  Paradise  Lost,  VI.  29-37. 

O  mighty -mouthed  inventor  of  harmonies, 
O  skilled  to  sing  of  Time  or  Eternity, 
God-gifted  organ-voice  of  England, 
Milton,  a  name  to  resound  for  ages; 
Whose  Titan  angels,  Gabriel,  Abdiel, 
Starred  from  Jehovah's  gorgeous  armories, 
Tower  as  the  deep-domed  empyrean 
Rings  to  the  roar  of  an  angel  onset  — 
Me  rather  ail  that  bowery  loneliness, 
The  brooks  of  Eden  mazily  murmuring, 
And  bloom  profuse  and  cedar  arches 
Charm,  as  a  wanderer  out  in  ocean, 
Where  some  refulgent  sunset  of  India 
Streams  o'er  a  rich  ambrosial  ocean  isle, 
And  crimson-hued  the  stately  palmwoods 
Whisper  in  odorous  heights  of  even.' 

— Tennyson. 


802641 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 


PAGES 

Introduction     .       • xiii-xxxii 

Milton's  Autobiography 1-103 

>•    From  A  Defence  of  the  English  People         ....  2-6 

"    From  Second  Defence  of  the  People  of  England  .         .         .  6-27 

To  Charles  Diodati  (Elegia  Prima) 28-30 

To  Alexander  Gill,  Jr.  (Familiar  Letters,  No.  III.)        .         .  30,  31 

To  Thomas  Young  (Familiar  Letters,  No.  IV.)     ...  31 

To  Charles  Diodati  (Elegia  Sexta) 3I_33 

Prolusiones  quaedam  Oratorise 33—35 

To  Father  (Ad  Patreiri) 35_4° 

English  letter  to  a  friend  (unknown)  who,  it  appears,  had 
been  calling  him  to  account  for  his  apparent  indiffer- 
ence as  to  his  work  in  life 40-43 

Sonnet :  On  his  having  arrived  at  the  age  of  twenty-three    .  42,  43 

To  Alexander  Gill,  Jr.  (Familiar  Letters,  No.  V.)          .         .  43-44 

To  Charles  Diodati  (Familiar  Letters,  Nos.  VI.,  VII.)  .         .  44-46 
To   Benedetto   Bonmattei   of    Florence    (Familiar   Letters, 

No.  VIII.)     ...                 .....  46 

From  Mansus,  Latin  poem  addressed  to  Manso,  Marquis  of 

Villa 47 

From  Areopagitica :  a  speech  for  the   liberty  of  unlicensed 

printing 48,  49 

ix 


\ 


X  CONTENTS 

% 

PAGES 

To  Lucas  Holstenius  in  the  Vatican  at  Rome  (Familiar  Let- 
ters, No.  IX.) 49,  50 

Epitaphium  Damonis 50,  51 

From  Of  Reformation  in  England 52—54 

From  Animadversions  upon  the  Remonstrant's  Defence,  etc.       54-56 
From  The   Reason   of  Church  Government  urged  against 

Prelaty 56-65 

From  Apology  for  Smectymnuus 65-82 

To   Carlo  Dati,  Nobleman   of  Florence   (Familiar  Letters, 

No.  X.) 82-84 

Sonnet :  On  his  Blindness 84,  85 

To  the  most  distinguished  Leonard  Philaras,  of  Athens,  Am- 
bassador from  the  Duke  of  Parma  to  the  King  of  France 

(Familiar  Letters,  No.  XII.) 85,  86 

To  Henry  Oldenburg,  agent  for  the  city  of  Bremen  in  Lower 
Saxony  with  the  Commonwealth  (Familiar  Letters,  No. 

XIV.) 87,88 

To  Leonard  Philaras,  Athenian  (Familiar  Letters,  No.  XV.)       88-90 

Sonnet:  To  Cyriac  Skinner .  91 

Sonnet:  On  his  deceased  wife 91 

To  the  most  accomplished  Emeric  Bigot  (Familiar  Letters, 

No.  XXL) 92 

To  Henry  Oldenburg  (Familiar  Letters,  No.  XXIX.)   .         .  93 

From  Considerations  touching  the  Likeliest  Means  to  remove 

Hirelings  out  of  the  Church  (August,  1659)  .  .  .  94-96 
Autobiographic  passages  in  the  Paradise  Lost  .  .  .  96-102 
To  the  very  distinguished  Peter  Heimbach,  Councillor  to  the 

Elector  of  Brandenburg  (Familiar  Letters,  No.  XXXI.)   102,  103 
Passages  in  Milton's  prose  and  poetical  works  in  which  his  idea 
of  true  liberty,  individual,  domestic,  civil,  political,  and  re- 
ligious, is  explicitly  set  forth 104-125 


CONTENTS  XI 

PAGES 

Comus:  a  Masque  presented  at  Ludlow  Castle,  1634,  before  the 

Earl  of  Bridgewater,  then  President  of  Wales        .         .         .  126-164 

Lycidas 165-179 

Samson  Agonistes 181-244 

Notes 245-303 


INTRODUCTION 

Milton's  prose  works  are  perhaps  not  read,  at  the  present 
day,  to  the  extent  demanded  by  their  great  and  varied  merits, 
among  which  may  be  named  their  uncompromising  advocacy 
of  whatsoever  things  are  true,  honest,  just,  pure,  lovely,  and 
of  good  report;  their  eloquent  assertion  of  the  inalienable 
rights  of  men  to  a  wholesome  exercise  of  their  intellectual 
faculties,  the  right  to  determine  for  themselves,  with  all  the 
aidlTtrTey  can  command,  what  is  truth  and  what  is  error;  the 
right  freely  to  communicate  their  honest  thoughts  from  one 
to  another, —  rights  which  constitute  the  only  sure  and  lasting 
foundation  of  individual,  civil,  political,  and  religious  liberty; 
the  ever-conscious  sentiment  which  they  exhibit,  on  the  part 
of  the  poet,  of  an  entire  dependence  upon  'that  Eternal  Spirit, 
who  can  enrich  with  all  utterance  and  knowledge,  and  sends 
out  his  Seraphim  with  the  hallowed  fire  of  his  altar,  to  touch 
and  purify  the  lips  of  whom  he  pleases ' ;  the  ever-present 
consciousness  they  exhibit  of  that  stewardship  which  every 
man  as  a  probationer  of  immortality  must  render  an  account, 
according  to  the  full  measure  of  the  talents  with  which  he  has 
been  intrusted  —  of  the  sacred  obligation,  incumbent  upon 
every  one,  of  acting  throughout  the  details  of  life,  private  or 
public,  trivial  or  momentous,  'as  ever  in  his  great  Task- 
Master's  eye.' 

Some  of  his  poetical  works  are  extensively  'studied  '  in  the 
schools,  and  a  style  study  of  some  of  his  prose  works  is  made 
in  departments  of  rhetoric;  but  his  prose  works  cannot  be 
said  to  be  much  read  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word, —  that  is, 


Xi  V  INTR  OD  UC  TION 

• 

with  all  the  faculties  alert  upon  the  subject-matter  as  of  prime 
importance,  with  an  openness  of  heart,  and  with  an  accom- 
panying interest  in  the  general  loftiness  of  their  diction;  in 
short,  as  every  one  should  train  himself  to  read  any  great 
author,  with  the  fullest  loyalty  to  the  author  —  by  which  is 
not  meant  that  all  his  thoughts  and  opinions  and  beliefs  are  to 
be  accepted,  but  that  what  they  really  are  be  adequately,  or 
ad  modum  recipientis,  apprehended;  in  other  words,  loyalty 
to  an  author  means  that  the  most  favorable  attitude  possible 
for  each  and  every  reader  be  taken  for  the  reception  of  his 
meaning  and  spirit. 

Mark  Pattison,  in  his  life  of  Milton,  in  the  '  English  Men 
of  Letters, '  while  fully  recognizing  the  grand  features  of  the 
prose  works  as  monuments  of  the  English  language,  notwith- 
standing what  he  calls  their  'asyntactic  disorder,'  undervalues, 
or  rather  does  not  value  at  all,  Milton's  services  to  the  cause 
of  political  and  religious  liberty  as  a  polemic  prose  writer, 
and  considers  it  a  thing  to  be  much  regretted  that  he  engaged 
at  all  in  the  great  contest  for  political,  religious,  and  other 
forms  of  liberty.  This  seems  to  be  the  one  unacceptable 
feature  of  his  very  able  life  of  the  poet.  'But  for  the  Restora- 
tion,' he  says,  'and  the  overthrow  of  the  Puritans,  we  should 
never  have  had  the  great  Puritan  epic'  Professor  Goldwin 
Smith,  in  his  article  in  the  New  York  Nation  on  Pattison' s 
'Milton,'  remarks:  'Looking  upon  the  life  of  Milton  the 
politician  merely  as  a  sad  and  ignominious  interlude  in  the 
life  of  Milton  the  poet,  Mr.  Pattison  cannot  be  expected  to 
entertain  the  idea  that  the  poem  is  in  any  sense  the  work  of 
the  politician.  Yet  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  tension 
and  elevation  which  Milton's  nature  had  undergone  in  the 
mighty  struggle,  together  with  the  heroic  dedication  of  his 
faculties  to  the  most  serious  objects,  must  have  had  not  a  little 
to  do  both  with  the  final  choice  of  his  subject  and  with  the 


INTRODUCTION  XV 

tone  of  his  poem.     "The  great  Puritan  epic"  could  hardly 
have  been  written  by  any  one  but  a  militant  Puritan.' 

Dr.  Richard  Garnett,  in  his  'Life  of  Milton,'  pp.  68,  69, 
takes  substantially  the  same  view  as  does  Professor  Smith :  'To 
regret  with  Pattison  that  Milton  should,  at  this  crisis  of  the 
State,  have  turned  aside  from  poetry  to  controversy,  is  to  regret 
that  "Paradise  Lost"  should  exist.  Such  a  work  could  not 
have  proceeded  from  one  indifferent  to  the  public  weal.  .  .  . 
It  is  sheer  literary  fanaticism  to  speak  with  Pattison  of  "the 
prostitution  of  genius  to  political  party."  Milton  is  as  much 
the  idealist  in  his  prose  as  in  his  verse;  and  although  in  his 
pamphlets  he  sides  entirely  with  one  of  the  two  great  parties 
in  the  State,  it  is  not  as  its  instrument,  but  as  its  prophet  and 
monitor. ' 

Milton  was  writing  prose  when,  Mr.  Pattison  thinks,  he 
should  have  been  writing  poetry,  'and  that  most  ephemeral 
and  valueless  kind  of  prose,  pamphlets,  extempore  articles  on 
the  topics  of  the  day.  He  poured  out  reams  of  them,  in  simple 
unconsciousness  that  they  had  no  influence  whatever  on  the 
current  of  events. ' 

But  they  certainly  had  an  influence,  and  a  very  great  influ- 
ence, on  the  current  of  events  not  many  years  after.  The 
restoration  of  Charles  II.  did  not  mean  that  the  work  of 
Puritanism  was  undone,  and  that  Milton's  pamphlets  were  to 
be  of  no  effect.  It  was  in  a  large  measure  due  to  that  work 
and  to  those  pamphlets  that  in  a  few  years  —  fourteen  only 
after  Milton's  death  —  the  constitutional  basis  of  the  monarchy 
underwent  a  quite  radical  change  for  the  better, —  a  change 
which  would  have  been  a  solace  to  Milton,  if  he  could  have 
lived  to  see  it;  and  he  could  then  have  justly  felt  that  he  had 
contributed  to  the  change.  He  would  have  been  but  eighty 
years  old,  if  he  had  lived  till  the  revolution  of  1688. 

A  man  constituted  as  Milton  was  could  not  have  kept  him- 


XVI  INTR  OD  UC  TION 

self  apart  from  the  great  conflicts  of  his  time.  He  was  a 
patriot  in  every  fibre  of  his  being.  He  realized  in  the  culti- 
vation of  himself  his  definition  of  education,  given  in  his 
tractate  'Of  Education.  To  Master  S.  Hartlib ' :  'I  call  a 
complete  and  generous  education  that  which  fits  a  man  to 
perform  justly,  skilfully,  and  magnanimously  all  the  offices, 
both  private  and  public,  of  peace  and  war.'  Of  course  he 
did  not  mean  that  that  was  all  of  education.  And  in  his 
'Areopagitica,'  he  says,  after  defining  'the  true  warfaring 
Christian,'  'I  cannot  praise  a  fugitive  and  cloistered  virtue, 
unexercised  and  unbreathed,  that  never  sallies  out  and  sees  her 
adversary,  but  slinks  out  of  the  race,  where  that  immortal 
garland  is  to  be  run  for,  not  without  dust  and  heat.' 

Although  the  direct  subjects  of  his  polemic  prose  works 
may  not  have  an  interest  for  the  general  reader  at  the  present 
day,  they  are  all,  independently  of  their  direct  subjects, 
charged  with  'truths  that  perish  never,'  most  vitally  expressed. 
And  this  is  as  true  of  the  'Treatises  on  Divorce  '  as  it  is  of 
any  of  the  other  prose  works.  They  are  full  of  bright  gems 
of  enduring  truth. 

Lord  Macaulay's  article  on  Milton,  first  published  in  the 
Edinburgh  Review  for  August,  1825,  is  a  brilliant  and,  in 
many  respects,  a  valuable  production,  but  he  certainly  says 
some  things  on  the  favorableness  of  an  uncivilized  age,  and 
the  unfavorableness  of  a  civilized  and  learned  age,  to  poetical 
creativeness,  which  are  quite  remote  from  the  truth,  and  which 
Milton  would  certainly  have  regarded  as  abundantly  absurd. 
So,  too,  he  would  have  regarded  what  is  said  of  the  necessary 
struggle  which  a  great  poet  must  make  against  the  spirit  of 
his  age.  All  these  views  are  as  complete^  at  variance  with 
Milton's  own  as  are  those  of  Mark  Pattison  in  regard  to 
Milton  the  politician. 

Lord  Macaulay's  article  was  occasioned  by  the  publication 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

of  an  English  version,  by  Rev.  Charles  Richard  Sumner,  after- 
wards Bishop  of  Winchester,  of  Milton's  'Treatise  on  Christian 
Doctrine, '  the  existence  of  which  was  unknown  up  to  the  year 
1823,  when  the  original  manuscript  in  Latin  was  found  in  a 
press  of  the  old  State  Paper  office,  in  Whitehall. 

In  this  essay  the  author  sets  forth  an  opinion,  still  widely 
entertained,  it  may  be,  by  a  large  number  of  cultivated  people, 
namely,  that  as  learning  and  general  civilization,  and  science, 
with  its  applications  to  the  physical  needs  and  comforts 
of  life,  advance,  Poetry  recedes,  and  'hides  her  diminished 
head,'  and  men  become  more  and  more  subject  to  facts  as 
facts,  losing  sight  more  and  more  of  the  poetical,  that  is, 
spiritual,  relations  of  facts. 

'Milton  knew,'  Macaulay  tells  us,  'that  his  poetical  genius 
derived  no  advantage  from  the  civilization  which  surrounded 
him,  or  from  the  learning  which  he  had  acquired;  and  he 
looked  back  with  something  of  regret  to  the  ruder  age  of 
simple  words  and  vivid  impressions.' 

But  it  appears  from  Milton's  own  authority  that  he  did  not 
know  this;  that,  on  the  contrary,  he  thought  the  poet  should 
be  master  of  all  human  learning,  ancient  and  modern,  should 
know  many  languages  and  many  literatures;  that  'by  labour 

Iand  intense  study,  which, '  he  adds,  '  I  take  to  be  my  portion 
in  this  life,  joined  with  the  strong  propensity  of  nature,  I 
might  perhaps  leave  something  so  written  to  after-times,  as 
1  they  should  not  willingly  let  it  die. '  Some  of  the  autobio- 
graphic passages  contained  in  this  book  will  be  found  a  suffi- 
cient refutation  of  what  has  been  quoted  from  Macaulay. 

The  view  which  Milton  took  of  learning,  and  acted  upon, 
is  one  which  should  be  kept  before  the  minds  of  students  at 
the  present  day,  when  the  tendency  is  so  strong  toward  learn- 
ing for  its  own  sake.  As  well  talk  of  beefsteak  for  its  own 
sake.     Learning  was  with  Milton  a  means  of  enlarging  his 


xvili  INTRODUCTION 

« 

capacity  —  a  means  toward  being  and  doing.  Mark  Pattison 
well  says,  'He  cultivated,  not  letters,  but  himself,  and  sought 
to  enter  into  possession  of  his  own  mental  kingdom,  not  that 
he  might  reign  there,  but  that  he  might  royally  use  its  re- 
sources in  building  up  a  work  which  should  bring  honour  to 
his  country,  and  his  native  tongue. ' 

'Though  we  admire,'  Lord  Macaulay  continues,  'those 
great  works  of  imagination  which  have  appeared  in  dark  ages, 
we  do  not  admire  them  the  more  because  they  have  appeared 
in  dark  ages.  On  the  contrary,  we  hold  that  the  most  won- 
derful and  splendid  proof  of  genius  is  a  great  poem  produced 
in  a  civilized  age.  We  cannot  understand  why  those  who 
believe  in  that  most  orthodox  article  of  literary  faith,  that  the 
earliest  poets  are  generally  the  best,  should  wonder  at  the  rule 
as  if  it  were  the  exception.  Surely  the  uniformity  of  the 
phenomenon  indicates  a  corresponding  uniformity  in  the 
cause.' 

Further  on  he  says:  'He  who,  in  an  enlightened  and  literary 
society,  aspires  to  be  a  great  poet,  must  first  become  a  little 
child.'  The  most  highly  learned  and  cultured  (eternalized), 
the  most  fully  developed  in  every  direction,  are  the  most 
childlike,  the  least  knowledge- proud,  and  the  more  spiritual 
vitality  they  have,  the  greater  will  be  their  humility  and  sim- 
plicity —  the  gates  to  true  wisdom.  'He  [the  poet]  must  take 
to  pieces, '  says  Macaulay,  '  the  whole  web  of  his  mind. '  Rather 
a  difficult  piece  of  unravelling  to  impose  upon  the  poor  fellow ! 
'He  must  unlearn  much  of  that  knowledge  which  has  perhaps 
constituted  hitherto  his  chief  title  of  superiority.'  Oh,  who 
would  be  a  poet  in  a  civilized  age !  'His  very  talents  will  be 
a  hindrance  to  him.'  What  an  irredeemable  numskull  he 
would  have  a  poet  to  be!  According  to  this  doctrine,  our 
institutions  for  feeble-minded  children  are  likely  to  send  forth 
the  best  poets  into  the  world.     'His  difficulties  will  be  pro- 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

portioned  to  his  proficiency  in  the  pursuits  which  are  fashion- 
able among  his  contemporaries,  and  that  proficiency  will  in 
general  be  proportioned  to  the  vigor  and  activity  of  his  mind. 
.  .  .  We  have  seen  in  our  own  time,  great  talents,  intense 
labor,  and  long  meditation,  employed  in  this  struggle  against 
the  spirit  of  the  age,  and  employed,  we  will  not  say  absolutely 
in  vain,  but  with  dubious  success  and  feeble  applause.' 

Of  all  the  flimsy  theories  in  regard  to  the  conditions  of 
poetic  creativeness  that  the  mind  of  man  could  devise,  this  is 
certainly  the  flimsiest.  It  is  only  necessary  to  give  a  hasty 
glance  at  the  works  of  those  poets  who  are  regarded  as  Masters 
of  Song  in  the  various  literatures  of  the  ancient  and  the 
modern  world,  to  learn  the  secret  of  their  vitality  and  power 
—  that  secret  being,  first,  that  they  all  possessed  the  best 
knowledge  and  learning  of  their  times  and  places;  and, 
secondly,  that  they  all  held  the  widest  and  most  intimate 
relations  with  their  several  ages  and  countries,  and  drank 
deepest  of,  and  most  intensely  reflected,  the  spirit  of  those 
ages  and  countries.  If  Shakespeare  was  not  a  learned  man, 
he  was  the  best  educated  man  that  ever  lived.  He  had  a  ful- 
ness of  life,  intellectual  and  spiritual,  and  an  easy  command 
of  all  his  faculties,  to  which  but  few  of  the  sons  of  men  have 
ever  attained;  and  he  lived  in  an  age  the  most  favorable  in 
human  history  for  the  exercise  of  dramatic  genius,  and  an  age, 
on  the  whole,  more  civilized  than  any  that  had  ever  preceded  it. 

No  true  poet  could  live  in  any  age  without  imbibing  and 
reflecting  its  spirit,  and  that  to  a  much  greater  degree  than 
other  men.  For  the  poetic  nature  is  distinguished  from 
ordinary  natures  by  its  greater  impressibility  and  its  keener, 
more  penetrating  insight,  and  to  suppose  that  a  poet  can  keep 
apart  from  the  spirit  of  his  age  and  the  state  of  society  around 
him  is  to  lose  sight  of  the  very  differentia  of  the  poetic  nature, 
and  implicitly  to  admit  its  feebleness.     In  one  respect  he  may 


XX  INTRODUCTION 

be  said  to  keep  apart  from  his  age,  in  the  sense  of  rejecting, 
in  having  no  affinities  for,  what  in  it  is  ephemeral,  while 
appropriating  what  of  vital  and  eternal  is  in  it.  His  affinities, 
by  virtue  of  his  poetic  nature,  are  for  what  is  enduring  in  the 
transient.  And  every  age  must  have  the  vital  and  eternal  in 
it,  as  the  vital  and  eternal  are  omnipresent  at  all  times  and  in 
all  places. 

The  great  poet  is  great  because  he  is  intensely  individual, 
and  there  can  be  no  intense  individuality,  paradoxical  as  it 
may  appear,  that  is  not  subject,  in  a  more  than  ordinary 
degree,  to  impressions  of  time  and  place.  An  individual  in 
the  fullest  sense  of  the  word,  one  who  legitimates,  as  it  were, 
in  the  eyes  of  his  country  or  his  age,  his  decisive  influence 
over  its  destiny,  is  generally  characterized,  not  so  much  by 
his  rejecting  power,  though  he  will  always,  and  necessarily, 
have  this  in  a  high  degree,  as  by  his  appropriating  power. 
He  brings  to  the  special  unity  of  his  nature  all  that  that 
nature,  in  its  healthiest  activity,  can  assimilate,  and  throws 
off  only  the  to  him  non-assimilable  dross  of  things.  The  more 
complete  his  life  becomes,  the  more  it  is  bound  up  with  what 
surrounds  it,  and  he  is  susceptible  of  impressions  the  more 
numerous  and  the  more  profound. 

The  greater  impressibility  (spiritual  sensitiveness)  and  its 
resultant,  the  keener,  more  penetrating  insight  ('the  vision 
and  the  faculty  divine  '),  which  preeminently  distinguish  poetic 
genius  from  ordinary  natures,  render  great  poets  the  truest 
historians  of  their  times  and  the  truest  prophets.  The  poetic 
and  dramatic  literature  of  a  people  is  a  mirror  in  which  is  most 
clearly  reflected  their  real  and  essential  life.  History  gives 
rather  their  phenomenal  life.  It  is  the  essential  spirit  only  of 
an  age,  the  permanent,  the  absolute,  in  it,  as  assimilated  and 
'  married  to  immortal  verse  '  by  a  great  poet,  that  can  retain  a 
hold  upon  the  interests  and  sympathies  of  future  generations. 


INTRODUCTION  XXI 

Milton  was  most  emphatically  a  man  of  his  age,  and  its 
clearest  reflector,  sustaining  to  it  the  most  intimate  and  sym- 
pathetic and  intensely  active  relationship;  and,  of  all  that  was 
enduring  in  it,  his  works,  both  prose  and  poetical,  are  the 
best  existing  exponent.  His  intimate  relationship  with  his 
age  has  been  set  forth  in  Dr.  Masson's  exhaustive  and  grandly 
monumental  work,  in  six  large  octavo  volumes,  'The  Life  of 
John  Milton:  narrated  in  connexion  with  the  political,  ec- 
clesiastical, and  literary  history  of  his  time. '  No  other  poet 
in  universal  literature,  unless  Dante  be  an  exception,  ever 
sustained  such  a  relationship  to  the  great  movements  of  his 
time  and  country  that  an  exhaustive  biography  of  him  would 
need  to  be,  to  the  same  extent,  'narrated  in  connexion  with 
the  political,  ecclesiastical,  and  literary  history  of  his  time. ' 

Milton  might  justly  and  proudly  have  said  of  himself,  with 
reference  to  the  fierce  political  and  ecclesiastical  conflicts  of 
his  time,  ' quorum  pars  magna  fui.%  And  who  can  doubt  that 
by  these  conflicts,  and  even,  also,  by  his  loss  of  sight  therein, 
he  was  tempered  to  write  the  'Paradise  Lost,'  the  'Paradise 
Regained,'  and  the  'Samson  Agonistes'?  He  might  have 
written  some  other  great  work,  if  he  had  kept  himself  apart 
from  these  conflicts,  as  Pattison  thinks  he  ought  to  have  done, 
but  he  certainly  could  not  have  written  the  'Paradise  Lost.' 
Of  the  principles  involved  in  the  great  contest  for  civil  and 
religious  liberty  his  prose  works  are  the  fullest  exponent.  In 
the  'Paradise  Lost'  can  be  seen  the  influence  of  his  classical 
and  Italian  studies.  Homer  and  Virgil  and  Dante  are  in  it, 
but  its  essential,  vitalizing,  controlling  spirit  is  that  of  a 
refined  exalted  Puritanism,  freed  from  all  that  was  in  it  of 
the  contingent  and  the  accidental;  and  thus  that  spirit  will  be 
preserved  for  ever  in  the  pure  amber  of  the  poem. 

It  was  not  within  the  scope  of  this  little  book,  as  a  primary 
introduction  to  the  study  of  Milton,  to  include  any  extended 


XX11  INTRODUCTION 

presentation  of  the  'Paradise  Lost.'  But  two  grand  features 
may  be  alluded  to  here.  It  is,  in  some  respects,  one  of  the 
most  educating  of  English  poems.  The  grand  feature  of  the 
poem,  that  feature  which  distinguishes  it  from  all  other  works 
of  genius,  both  ancient  and  modern,  is  its  essential,  constitu- 
tional sublimity.  So  universally  has  this  feature  been  recog- 
nized as  peculiar  to  the  poem,  that  the  word  Miltonic  has 
become  synonymous  with  the  sublime.  The  loftiness  of  the 
diction,  which  is  without  all  touch  of  bombast,  every  sympa- 
thetic reader  must  feel  to  be  an  emanation  from  the  august 
personality  of  the  poet.  There  is  no  perceptible  strain  any- 
where, as  there  is  no  perceptible  lapse  of  power,  on  the  part 
of  the  poet.  He  keeps  ever  up  to  the  height  of  his  great 
argument.  To  come  into  the  fullest  possible  sympathetic 
relationship  with  the  poem's  constitutional  sublimity,  to  be 
impressed  by  its  loftiness  of  diction,  by  the  contriving  spirit 
of  its  eloquence,  are  educating  experiences  of  the  highest 
order  —  experiences  which  imply  an  exercise,  most  vitalizing 
and  uplifting,  of  the  reader's  higher  organs  of  apprehension 
and  discernment.  The  theology  of  the  poem  need  not  obstruct 
for  any  one  these  educating  influences.  They  are  quite  inde- 
pendent of  the  theology,  as  are  the  educating  influences  of  the 
'Divina  Commedia  '  independent  of  its  mediaeval  Catholicism. 
The  absolute  man  was  in  the  ascendent  in  both  Dante  and 
Milton;  and  by  virtue  of  that  ascendency,  they  are,  and  ever 
will  continue  to  be,  great  educating  personalities,  whatever 
false  science  and  false  opinions  on  various  subjects  are  em- 
bodied in  their  works,  and  however  much  the  world's  faith 
in  things  which  they  most  vitally  believed  may  decline  and 
entirely  cease  to  be.  Their  personalities  and  their  works  are 
consubstantial.  This  fact  —  an  immortal  fact  —  was,  perhaps, 
not  taken  sufficient  account  of  by  Mark  Pattison  when  he  wrote 
in  his  'Life  of  Milton '  that  'the  demonology  of  the  poem  has 


INTR  OD  UC  TION  XX111 

already,  with  educated  readers,  passed  from  the  region  of  fact 
into  that  of  fiction.  Not  so  universally,  but  with  a  large 
number  of  readers,  the  angelology  can  be  no  more  than  what 
the  critics  call  machinery.  And  it  requires  a  violent  effort 
from  any  of  our  day  to  accommodate  our  conceptions  to  the 
anthropomorphic  theology  of  "Paradise  Lost."  Were  the 
sapping  process  to  continue  at  the  same  rate  for  two  more 
centuries,  the  possibility  of  epic  illusion  would  be  lost  to  the 
whole  scheme  and  economy  of  the  poem/  But  there  is  a 
power  in  ' Paradise  Lost'  which  is,  and  ever  will  be,  inde-  ^ 
pendent  of  all  manner  of  obsolete  beliefs.  r* 

Both  the  *  Paradise  Lost'  and  the  'Divina  Commedia'  be- 
long, in  a  supereminent  degree,  to  what  Thomas  De  Quincey 
calls,  in  his  'Essay  on  Pope,'  the  literature  of  power,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  the  literature  of  knowledge ;  and,  as  a  conse- 
quence, the  statement  of  Mark  Pattison  that  'there  is  an 
element  of  decay  and  death  in  poems  which  we  vainly  style 
immortal,'  is  not  applicable  to  them.  By  the  literature  of 
power  is  meant  that  which  is,  in  whatever  form,  an  adequate 
embodiment  of  eternal  verities  —  verities  of  the  human  soul 
and  of  the  divine  constitution  of  things,  and  their  mutual 
adaptation,  however  much  the  former  may  be  estranged  from 
the  latter.  Such  embodiment  will  maintain  its  individual 
existence. 

'In  that  great  social  order,  which  collectively  we  call  litera- 
ture,' says  De  Quincey,  'there  may  be  distinguished  two 
separate  offices  that  may  blend  and  often  do  so,  but  capable 
severally  of  a  severe  insulation,  and  naturally  fitted  for  recip- 
rocal repulsion.  There  is,  first,  the  literature  of  knowledge, 
and,  secondly,  the  literature  of  power.  The  function  of  the 
first  is  to  teach ;  the  function  of  the  second  is  to  move.  .  .  . 
The  first  speaks  to  the  mere  discursive  understanding;  the 
second  speaks  ultimately,  it  may  happen,  to  the  higher  under- 


XXIV  INTRODUCTION 

standing  or  reason,  but  always  through  affections  of  pleasure 
and  sympathy.  .  .  .  Whenever  we  talk  in  ordinary  language 
of  seeking  information  or  gaining  knowledge,  we  understand 
the  words  as  connected  with  something  of  absolute  novelty. 
But  it  is  the  grandeur  of  all  truth  which  can  occupy  a  very 
high  place  in  human  interests,  that  it  is  never  absolutely  novel 
to  the  meanest  of  minds:  it  exists  eternally  by  way  of  germ  or 
latent  principle  in  the  lowest  as  in  the  highest,  needing  to  be 
developed,  but  never  to  be  planted.  To  be  capable  of  trans- 
plantation is  the  immediate  criterion  of  a  truth  that  ranges  on 
a  lower  scale.  Besides  which,  there  is  a  rarer  thing  than  truth, 
namely,  power  or  deep  sympathy  with  truth. ' 

By  the  truth  which  'is  never  absolutely  novel  to  the  meanest 
of  minds, '  De  Quincey  means  absolute,  eternal  truth,  inherent 
in  the  human  soul,  as  distinguished  from  relative,  temporal 
truth,  the  former  being  more  or  less  'cabined,  cribbed,  con- 
fined '  in  all  men.  As  Paracelsus  is  made  to  express  it,  in 
Browning's  poem  'Paracelsus,'  'There  is  an  inmost  centre  in 
us  all,  where  truth  abides  in  fulness;  .  .  .  and  "to  know" 
rather  consists  in  opening  out  a  way  whence  the  imprisoned 
splendor  may  escape,  than  in  effecting  entry  for  a  light  sup- 
posed to  be  without.' 

To  continue  with  De  Quincey:  'What  you  owe  to  Milton 
[and  he  has  the  'Paradise  Lost'  specially  in  his  mind]  is  not 
any  knowledge,  of  which  a  million  separate  items  are  still  but 
a  million  of  advancing  steps  on  the  same  earthly  level;  what 
you  owe  is  flower,  that  is,  exercise  and  expansion  to  your  own 
latent  capacity  of  sympathy  with  the  infinite,  where  every  pulse 
and  each  separate  influx  is  a  step  upwards  —  a  step  ascending 
as  upon  a  Jacob's  ladder  from  earth  to  mysterious  altitudes 
above  the  earth.  All  the  steps  of  knowledge,  from  first  to 
last,  carry  you  further  on  the  same  plane,  but  could  never  raise 
you  one  foot  above  your  ancient  level  of  earth;  whereas  the  very 


INTRODUCTION  XXV 

first  step  in  power  is  a  flight  —  is  an  ascending  into  another 
element  where  earth  is  forgotten.  .  .  .  The  very  highest  work 
that  has  ever  existed  in  the  literature  of  knowledge  is  but 
a  provisional  work :  a  book  upon  trial  and  sufferance,  and 
quamdiu  bene  se  gesserit.  Let  its  teaching  be  even  partially 
revised,  let  it  be  but  expanded,  nay,  even  let  its  teaching  be 
but  placed  in  a  better  order,  and  instantly  it  is  superseded. 
Whereas  the  feeblest  works  in  the  literature  of  power,  surviving 
at  all,  survive  as  finished  and  unalterable  amongst  men.  For 
instance,  the  "Principia"  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  a  book 
militant  on  earth  from  the  first.  In  all  stages  of  its  progress 
it  would  have  to  fight  for  its  existence;  first,  as  regards  abso- 
lute truth;  secondly,  when  that  combat  is  over,  as  regards  its 
form  or  mode  of  presenting  the  truth.  And  as  soon  as  a  La 
Place,  or  anybody  else,  builds  higher  upon  the  foundations 
laid  by  this  book,  effectually  he  throws  it  out  of  the  sunshine 
into  decay  and  darkness;  by  weapons  won  from  this  book  he 
superannuates  and  destroys  this  book,  so  that  soon  the  name 
of  Newton  remains  as  a  mere  nominis  umbra,  but  his  book,  as 
a  living  power,  has  transmigrated  into  other  forms.  Now,  on 
the  contrary,  the  "Iliad,"  the  "Prometheus"  of  ^Eschylus, — 
the  "Othello"  or  "King  Lear,"  — the  "Hamlet"  or  "Mac- 
beth,"—  and  the  "Paradise  Lost,"  are  not  militant,  but  tri- 
umphant forever  as  long  as  the  languages  exist  in  which  they 
speak  or  can  be  taught  to  speak.  They  never  can  transmigrate 
into  new  incarnations.  .  .  .  All  the  literature  of  knowledge 
builds  only  ground-nests,  that  are  swept  away  by  floods,  or 
confounded  by  the  plough;  but  the  literature  of  power  builds 
nests  in  aerial  altitudes  of  temples,  sacred  from  violation,  or 
of  forests  inaccessible  to  fraud.' 

I  would  not  give  these  extended  quotations  from  De  Quincey 
were  it  not  that  there  may  be  many  students  who  will  read  this 
book,   and  who  will  not  have   access   to   the  works  of   De 


XXVI  INTRODUCTION 

Quincey.  Those  who  have,  should  read  all  that  he  says  on  the 
subject.  The  distinction  which  he  makes  between  the  litera- 
ture of  knowledge  and  the  literature  of  power  was  never  before 
so  clearly  and  eloquently  made,  and  it  is  a  distinction  which 
needs  to  be  especially  emphasized  in  these  days  of  excessive 
knowledge-mongery,  apart  from  education.  Literature  is 
largely  made  in  the  schools  a  knowledge  subject.  The  great 
function  of  literature,  namely,  to  bring  into  play  the  spiritual 
faculties,  is  very  inadequately  recognized,  and  the  study  of 
English  Literature  is  made  too  much  an  objective  job  —  the 
fault  of  teachers,  not  students.  When  the  literature  is  studied 
as  a  life-giving  power,  students  are  always  more  interested 
than  when  everything  else  except  the  one  thing  needful  re- 
ceives attention, —  the  sources  of  works  of  genius,  the  influ- 
ences under  which  they  were  produced,  their  relations  to 
history  and  to  time  and  place,  and  whatever  else  may  be  made 
to  engage  the  minds  of  students  in  the  absence  of  the  teacher's 
ability  to  bring  them  into  a  sympathetic  relationship  with  the 
informing  life  of  the  works  ' studied  '  — with  that  which  con- 
stitutes their  absolute  power. 

Another  important  feature  of  the  'Paradise  Lost'  to  which 
I  would  call  attention,  and  of  which  much  should  be  made  in 
the  study  of  the  poem,  as  a  condition  of  assimilating  its  edu- 
cating power,  is  the  verse,  which  more  fully  realizes  Words- 
worth's definition  and  notion  of  harmonious  verse,  given  by 
Coleridge  in  the  third  of  his  'Satyrane's  Letters,'  than  any 
other  blank  verse  in  the  language.  The  definition,  it  is  evi- 
dent, was  meant  to  apply  more  particularly  to  non- dramatic 
blank  verse.  Wordsworth's  definition  is,  as  given  by  Coleridge, 
that  'harmonious  verse  consists  (the  English  iambic  blank 
verse  above  all)  in  the  apt  arrangement  of  pauses  and  cadences 
and  the  sweep  of  whole  paragraphs, 


INTRODUCTION  XXV11 

"  with  many  a  winding  bout 
Of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out," 

and  not  in  the  even  flow,  much  less  in  the  prominence  or 
antithetic  vigor  of  single  lines,  which  are  indeed  injurious  to 
the  total  effect,  except  where  they  are  introduced  for  some 
specific  purpose.' 

In  my  'Primer  of  English  Verse'  (Ginn  &  Co.,  Boston),  I 
have  presented  the  two  grand  features  of  Milton's  blank  verse, 
namely:  (i)  The  melodious  variety  of  his  cadences  closing 
within  verses,  this  being  one  of  the  essentials  of  'true  musical 
delight'  which  Milton  mentions,  in  his  remarks  on  'The 
Verse,'  'the  sense  variously  drawn  out  from  one  verse  into 
another  ' ;  and  (2)  the  melodious  and  harmonious  grouping  of 
verses  into  what  may,  with  entire  propriety,  be  called  stanzas 
—  stanzas  which  are  more  organic  than  the  uniformly  con- 
structed stanzas  of  rhymed  verse.  The  latter  must  be  more  or 
less  artificial,  by  reason  of  the  uniformity  which  is  maintained. 
But  the  stanzas  of  Milton's  blank  verse  are  waves  of  melody 
and  harmony  which  are  larger  or  smaller,  and  with  ever  varied 
cadences,  according  to  the  propulsion  of  the  thought  and 
feeling  which  produces  them,  which  propulsion  may  be  sus- 
tained through  a  dozen  verses  or  more,  or  may  expend  itself 
in  two  or  three.  No  other  blank  verse  in  the  language  exhibits 
such  a  masterly  skill  in  the  variation  of  its  pauses  —  pauses, 
I  mean,  where  periodic  groups,  or  logical  sections  of  groups, 
terminate  after,  or  within,  it  may  be,  the  first,  second,  third, 
or  fourth  foot  of  a  verse.  There  are  five  cases  where  the 
termination  is  within  the  fifth  foot. 

Stanza  is  quite  exclusively  applied  to  uniform  groups  of 
rhymed  verses,  but  it  can  be  with  equal  propriety  applied  to 
the  varied  groups  of  blank  verses,  especially  those  of  the 
'Paradise  Lost.'  For  the  proper  appreciation  of  the  indi- 
vidual verses  in  Milton's  blank  verse,  they  must  be  read  in 


XXV111  INTRODUCTION 

groups, — a  group  sometimes,  perhaps  generally,  beginning 
within  a  verse  and  ending  within  a  verse.  These  groups  are 
due  to  the  unifying  action  of  feeling,  just  as  much  as  rhymed 
stanzas  are,  and,  indeed,  often,  if  not  generally,  more  so. 

The  autobiographical  passages  which  have  been  brought 
together  from  the  prose  and  poetical  works,  occupying  103 
pages  of  the  book,  exhibit  the  man,  Milton,  better  than  could 
any  regular  biography  of  the  same  extent.  The  latter  could 
give  more  of  the  details  of  his  outward  life  and  experiences, 
but  could  not  so  reflect  his  personality,  his  inmost  being.  He 
was  most  emphatically  a  person.  He  realized  in  himself  what 
is  expressed  in  the  following  verses  from  Tennyson's  'CEnone  ' : 

'  Self-reverence,  self-knowledge,  self-control, 
These  three  alone  lead  life  to  sovereign  power. 
Yet  not  for  power  (power  of  herself 
Would  come  uncalled  for),  but  to  live  by  law, 
Acting  the  law  we  live  by  without  fear; 
And,  because  right  is  right,  to  follow  right 
Were  wisdom  in  the  scorn  of  consequence.' 

He  also  realized  in  himself  what  he  says  in  his  'Areopa- 
gitica' :  'He  that  can  apprehend  and  consider  vice  with  all 
her  baits  and  seeming  pleasures,  and  yet  abstain,  and  yet  dis- 
tinguish, and  yet  prefer  that  which  is  truly  better,  he  is  the 
true  warf aring  Christian. ' 

What  he  says  of  himself  in  reply  to  the  base  and  scurrilous 
and  utterly  unfounded  charges  against  his  private  character  is 
more  than  what  Mark  Pattison  truly  characterizes  as  'a  superb 
and  ingenuous  egotism ' ;  is  more  than  an  apologia  pro  vita 
sua;  it  was  also  prompted  by  the  consideration  that  what  he 
was  agonizingly  contending  for  in  the  cause  of  civil,  political, 
and  religious  liberty  might  suffer,  if  his  private  character  were 
not  freed  from  the  charges  made  against  it.  In  the  extended 
autobiographical  passage  in  the  'Second  Defence  of  the  People 


INTRODUCTION  XXIX 

of  England,'  he  assigns  two  other  reasons  for  acquitting  him- 
self of  the  charges  made  against  his  private  character,  namely, 
'that  those  illustrious  worthies,  who  are  the  objects  of  my 
praise,  may  know  that  nothing  could  afflict  me  with  more 
shame  than  to  have  any  vices  of  mine  diminish  the  force  or 
lessen  the  value  of  my  pangeyric  upon  them;  and  that  the 
people  of  England,  whom  fate  or  duty,  or  their  own  virtues, 
have  incited  me  to  defend,  may  be  convinced  from  the  purity 
and  integrity  of  my  life,  that  my  defence,  if  it  do  not  redound 
to  their  honour,  can  never  be  considered  as  their  disgrace.' 

A  noble  motive  nobly  presented ! 

There  are  no  authors  in  the  literature  more  distinctly  re- 
vealed in  their  writings  than  is  John  Milton.  His  personality  f 
is  felt  in  his  every  production,  poetical  and  prose,  and  felt 
almost  as  much  in  the  earliest  as  in  the  latest  period  of  his 
authorship.  And  there  is  no  epithet  more  applicable  to  his 
personality  than  the  epithet  august.  He  is  therefore  one  of 
the  most  educating  of  authors,  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word, 
that  is,  educating  in  the  direction  of  sanctified  character. 

1  'Tis  human  fortune's  happiest  height  to  be 
A  spirit  melodious,  lucid,  poised,  and  whole : 
Second  in  order  of  felicity 

I  hold  it,  to  have  walked  with  such  a  soul.' 

The  prime  value  attaching  to  the  prose  works  of  Milton  at 
the  present  day  is  their  fervent  exposition  of  true  freedom, —  v 
a  freedom  which  involves  a  deep  sympathy  with  truth;  a 
freedom  which  is  induced  by  a  willing  and,  in  its  final  result, 
a  spontaneous  obedience  to  one's  higher  nature.  Without 
such  obedience  no  one  can  be  truly  free.  Outward  freedom, 
so  called,  may  only  afford  an  opportunity  to  one  with  evil 
inward  tendencies  to  become,  morally,  an  invertebrate.  Lord 
Byron  speaks  of  his  Lara  as 


XXX  INTR  OD  UC  TION 

tt 
r  Left  by  his  sire,  too  young  such  loss  to  knowX 
J    Lord  of  himself ;  that  heritage  of  woe,  \ 

I    That  fearful  empire  which  the  human  breast        \ 
I   But  holds  to  rob  the  heart  within  of  rest !  —         1 
\  With  none  to  check,  and  few  to  point  in  time      / 
VThe  thousand  paths  that  slope  the  way  to  crimef 

There  is  more  outward  freedom  at  the  present  time  than 
there  was  ever  before,  perhaps,  in  the  world's  history,  and  the 
temptations  which  it  involves  can  be  adequately  resisted  only 
by  the  subjective  freedom  which  Milton  so  strenuously  advo- 
cated. His  ideas  of  all  kinds  of  true  freedom  (explicit 
expressions  of  which  have  been  brought  together  in  the  second 
section  of  this  book)  need  to  be  instilled  into  all  young  minds, 
first,  for  their  own  intrinsic  value,  and,  secondly,  as  a  means 
—  the  sole  means  —  of  checking  the  present  and  ever  increas- 
ing tendency  toward  unrestrained  desires,  toward  what  many 
mistake  for  true  freedom,  namely,  license.  Of  such,  Milton 
says,  in  one  of  his  sonnets, 

A  License  they  mean  when  they  cry  liberty; 
\For  who  loves  that  must  first  be  wise  and  good.'  J 

The  passage  on  Discipline  (pp.  108-ni)  from  /The  Reason 
of  Church  Government  urged  against  Prelaty,'  should  be 
learned  by  heart  (in  the  vital  sense  of  the  phrase,  not  in  the 
sense  of  merely  memorizing)  by  all  young  people  in  our 
schools.  Everything  should  be  done  to  induce  a  sympathetic 
assimilation  on  their  part  of  the  lofty  utterances  in  this  passage 
on  Discipline,  •  whose  golden  surveying  rod,'  says  Milton, 
'marks  out  and  measures  every  quarter  and  circuit  of  New 
Jerusalem. ' 

The  translations  (not  acknowledged  in  the  text)  of  the  two 
Latin  poems  addressed  to  the  poet's  Anglo  Italian  friend, 
Charles  Diodati  (' Elegia  Prima.  Ad  Carolum  Diodatum,' 
p.  28,  and  'Elegia  Sexta.     Ad  Carolum  Diodatum,  ruri  com- 


INTRODUCTION  XXXI 

morantem,'  p.  31),  and  of  the  Familiar  Letters  (' Epistolce 
Familiares1),  Nos.  IIL-X.,  XII.,  XIV.,  XXI.,  XXIX.,  and 
XXXI.  are  by  Dr.  Masson.  His  translations  of  the  latter  are 
much  closer  to  the  meaning  and  tone  of  the  original  than 
those  by  Robert  Fellowes,  given  in  the  Bohn  edition  of  the 
prose  works,  which  hardly  warrant  the  characterization  of 
them  by  the  editor,  J.  A.  St.  John,  as  '  the  very  elegant  transla- 
tion of  Mr.  Fellowes,  of  Oxford,  who,  in  most  instances,  has 
happily  and  with  much  feeling  entered  into  and  expressed 
the  views  of  Milton.'  The  translation  of  No.  XV.  of  the 
Familiar  Letters,  'To  Leonard  Philaras,  Athenian,'  is  by  my 
colleague,  Professor  Charles  E.  Bennett. 

Students  who  are  sufficiently  good  Latin  scholars  should 
read  Milton's  Latin  poems  in  the  original,  especially  the  ' In 
Quintum  Novembris :  anno  cetatis  17,'  the  ' Ad  Patrem,1  and 
the  l  Epitaphium  Damonis.'  The  lIn  Quintum  Novembris'  (On 
the  fifth  of  November,  that  is,  the  anniversary  of  the  discovery 
of  the  Gunpowder  Plot)  is  described  by  Masson  as  'one  of  the 
very  cleverest  and  most  poetical  of  all  Milton's  youthful  pro- 
ductions, and  certainly  one  of  the  most  characteristic'  The 
'Epitaphium  Da?nonis  '  has  been  admirably  edited  with  notes 
by  C.  S.  Jerram,  M.A.  Trin.  Coll.  Oxon.,  along  with  'Lycidas.' 

The  student  should  first  read  carefully  all  the  selections, 
prose  and  poetical,  without  referring  to  the  notes.  Notes  are 
a  necessary  evil,  and  should  not  be  read  until  after  a  requisite 
general  impression  has  been  received  from  an  independent 
reading;  often  two  or  more  independent  readings  should  pre- 
cede any  attention  to  explanatory  notes.  Even  such  a  poem 
as  Browning's  'The  Ring  and  the  Book,'  abounding  as  it  does 
in  out  of  the  way  allusions,  difficult  syntactical  constructions, 
etc.,  requiring  explanation,  should  be  so  read.  The  student 
would  thus  get  a  better  impression  of  the  poem  as  a  whole,  and 
would  derive  from  it  a  greater  pleasure  (the  pleasure  resulting 


XXX11  INTRODUCTION 

from  the  less  interrupted  exercise  of  his  higher  faculties)  than 
if  he  should  read  it  at  first  with  the  aid  of  abundant  notes  ex- 
planatory of  details.  A  special  attention  to  the  details  should 
be  given  only  after  the  reader  has,  in  a  general  way,  taken  in 
the  articulating  thought  and  the  informing  life  of  the  poem. 

There  are  thousands  of  allusions  in  the  *  Paradise  Lost' 
which  a  reader  might  not  know,  and  yet  be  able  to  read  the 
whole  poem  for  the  first  time  and  enjoy  it,  and,  what  is  all- 
important,  be  uplifted  by  it,  without  a  single  explanatory  note. 

The  portrait  of  Milton  is  from  that  first  drawn  in  crayons 
by  William  Faithorne,  and  afterward  engraved  by  him  for  the 
poet's 'History  of  Britain,' published  in  1670.  Underneath 
the  original  engraving  is  the  inscription,  'Joannis  Miltoni 
Effigies  Aitat :  62.  1670.  Gul.  Faithorne  ad  Vivum  Delin.  et 
Sculpsif  (John  Milton's  effigy  at  the  age  of  62.  1670.  Drawn 
from  life  and  engraved  by  William  Faithorne). 

Faithorne  was  the  most  distinguished  portrait  artist  and 
engraver  of  the  time.  He  appears  to  have  especially  excelled 
in  crayon-drawing  rather  than  in  painting.  His  numerous 
engravings  are  both  from  his  own  studies  and  from  those  of 
other  artists,  especially  of  Vandyke.  'No  one,'  says  Masson, 
'can  desire  a  more  impressive  and  authentic  portrait  of  Milton 
in  his  later  life.  The  face  is  such  as  has  been  given  to  no 
other  human  being;  it  was  and  is  uniquely  Milton's.  Under- 
neath the  broad  forehead  and  arched  temples  there  are  the 
great  rings  of  eye-socket,  with  the  blind  unblemished  eyes  in 
them,  drawn  straight  upon  you  by  your  voice,  and  speculating 
who  and  what  you  are;  there  is  a  severe  composure  in  the 
beautiful  oval  of  the  whole  countenance,  disturbed  only  by 
the  singular  pouting  round  the  rich  mouth;  and  the  entire 
expression  is  that  of  English  intrepidity  mixed  with  unutter- 
able sorrow.'  H.  C. 

Cascadilla  Cottage,  July,  1899. 


MILTON'S   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

made  up  of  all  the  more  important  autobiographical  passages 
contained  in  his  prose  and  poetical  works 

It  was  found  quite  impossible  to  avoid  somewhat  of  a  jumble 
in  bringing  together  the  many  autobiographic  passages  scattered 
throughout  Milton's  prose  and  poetical  works.  The  passage  in 
the  '  Second  Defence  of  the  People  of  England,'  in  reply  to 
the  scurrilous  abuse  and  utterly  unfounded  charges  against  his 
private  character  contained  in  the  Regit  Sanguinis  Cla7nor  ad 
Caelum,  adversus  Parricidas  Anglicanos,  1652,  which  occasioned 
the  l  Second  Defence,'  covers  a  larger  period  of  Milton's  life 
than  any  other,  extending,  as.  it  does,  from  his  birth  to  the 
time  of  his  writing  the  '  Second  Defence,'  published  in  1654, 
Milton  being  then  in  his  forty-sixth  year ;  and  as  there  is  an 
autobiographic  passage  of  some  importance  in  the  preface  to 
the  '  First  Defence  '  (published  in  165 1),  this  passage  and  that  in 
the  '  Second  Defence  '  are  kept  together  and  given  first.  In  the 
former  he  expresses  his  sense  of  the  honor  done  him  in  his  hav- 
ing been  engaged  to  reply  to  the  Defensio  Regia  pro  Carolo  I., 
by  Salmasius ;  and  he  evidently  felt,  and  justly,  too,  that  no 
abler  man  could  have  been  engaged  for  that  important  func- 
tion. The  extract  from  '  A  Defence  of  the  People  of  England' 
is  from  the  translation  ascribed  by  Milton's  biographer,  John 
Toland,  to  Mr.  Washington,  a  gentleman  of  the  Temple,  and 
that  from  the  '  Second  Defence,'  from  the  translation  by  Robert 


2  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Fellowes,  A.M.,  Oxon.  These  are  very  free  translations,  and 
sometimes  far  from  being  adequate  representations  of  Milton's 
though1;.  It  is"  much  to  be  regretted  that  Milton  did  not  him- 
self make  an  English  translation,  for  the  general  English  reader, 
of  these  two  noble  Defences. 

The  other  Autobiographic  passages  are  given,  as  far  as  may 
be,  in  their  chronological  order,  —  that  is,  not  always  according 
to  the  dates  of  their  composition,  but  according  to  their  order 
in  Milton's  life.  ><_jK^^^/Zf  > 

From  the  Preface  to  lA  Defence  of  the  English  People ' 

Although  I  fear,  lest,  if  in  defending  the  people  of  England, 
I  should  be  as  copious  in  words,  and  empty  of  matter,  as 
most  men  think  Salmasius  has  been  in  his  defence  of  the 
king,  I  might  seem  to  deserve  justly  to  be  accounted  a 
^verbose  and  silly  defender ;  yet  since  no  man  thinks  him- 
self obliged  to  make  so  much  haste,  though  in  the  handling 
but  of  any  ordinary  subject,  as  not  to  premise  some  intro- 
duction at  least,  according  as  the  weight  of  the  subject 
requires ;  if  I  take  the  same  course  in  handling  almost  the 
greatest  subject  that  ever  was  (without  being  too  tedious  iri 
it)  I  am  in  hopes  of  attaining  two  things,  which  indeed  I 
earnestly  desire  :  the  one,  not  to  be  at  all  wanting,  as  far  as 
C  _  in  me  lies,  to  this  most  noble  cause  and  most  worthy  to  be 
recorded  to  all  future  ages  :  the  other,  that  I  may  appear  to 
have  myself  avoided  that  frivolousness  of  matter,  and  re- 
dundancy of  words,  which  I  blame  in  my  antagonist..  For 
I  am  about  to  discourse  of  matters  neither  inconsiderable 
nor  common,  but  how  a  most  potent  king,  after  he  had 
trampled  upon  the  laws  of  the  nation,  and  given  a  shock  to 
its  religion,  and  begun  to  rule  at  his  own  will  and  pleasure, 
was  at  last  subdued  in  the  field   by  his  own  subjects,  who 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  3 

had    undergone    a   long   slavery  under   him ;    how  afterwards 
he  was  cast  into  prison,  and  when  he  gave  no  ground,  either 
by  words  or  actions,  to  hope  better  things  of  him,  was  finally 
by  the  supreme  council  of  the  kingdom  condemned  to  die, 
and  beheaded  before  the  very  gates  of  the  royal  palace.     I    j^ 
shall  likewise  relate  (which  will  much  conduce  to  the  easing  ' 
men's  minds  of  a  great  superstition)  by  what  right,  especially   J 
according  to  our  law,  this  judgment  was  given,  and  all  these  . 
matters  transacted;    and  shall  easily  defend  my  valiant  and 
worthy  countrymen  (who  have  extremely  well  deserved  of  all 
subjects   and   nations   in   the  world)  from   the  most  wicked 
calumnies,    both    of   domestic    and    foreign   railers,    and    es- 
pecially from  the  reproaches  of  this  most  vain   and  empty 
sophist,  who  sets  up  for  a  captain  and  ringleader  to  all  the 
rest.     For  what  king's  majesty  sitting  upon  an  exalted  throne, 
ever  shone  so  brightly,  as  that  of  the  people  of  England  then   - 
did,  when,  shaking  off  that  old  superstition,  which  had  pre- 
vailed a  long  time,  they  gave  judgment  upon  the  king  him- 
self, or  rather  upon   an   enemy  who   had   been   their   king, 
caught  as  it  were  in  a  net  by  his  own  laws,  (who  alone  of  all 
mortals  challenged   to  himself  impunity  by  a  divine  right,) 
and  scrupled  not  to  inflict  the  same  punishment  upon  him, 
being  guilty,  which  he  would  have  inflicted  upon  any  other? 
But  why  do   I   mention   these   things   as   performed   by  thej^ 
people,  which  almost  open  their  voice  themselves,  and  testify 
the  presence  of  God  throughout?  who,  as  often  as  it  seems  «j»  a 
good  to  his  infinite  wisdom,  uses  to  throw  down  proud  and 
unruly    kings,    exalting    themselves    above    the    condition    of 
human  nature,  and   utterly  to   extirpate   them   and   all   their 
family.     By  his    manifest    impulse    being    set  at  work  to  re- 
cover our  almost   lost   liberty,  following   him   as   our   guide, 
and  adoring  the   impresses  of  his   divine   power   manifested 
upon  all  occasions,  we  went  on  in  no  obscure,  but  an  illus-J? 


4  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

trious  passage,  pointed  out  and  made  plain  to  us  by  God  him- 
self. Which  things,  if  I  should  so  much  as  hope  by  any 
diligence  or  ability  of  mine,  such  as  it  is,  to  discourse  of  as  I 
ought  to  do,  and  to  commit  them  so  to  writing,  as  that  per- 
haps all  nations  and  all  ages  may  read  them,  it  would  be  a 
very  vain  thing  in  me.  For  what  style  can  be  august  and  mag- 
nificent enough,  what  man  has  ability  sufficient  to  undertake 
so  great  a  task  ?  Since  we  find  by  experience,  that  in  so  many 
ages  as  are  gone  over  the  world,  there  has  been  but  here  and 
there  a  man  found,  who  has  been  able  worthily  to  recount  the 
actions  of  great  heroes,  and  potent  states ;  can  any  man  have 
so  good  an  opinion  of  his  own  talents,  as  to  think  himself 
capable  of  reaching  these  glorious  and  wonderful  works  of 
Almighty  God,  by  any  language,  by  any  style  of  his  ?  Which 
enterprise,  though  some  of  the  most  eminent  persons  in  our 
commonwealth  have  prevailed  upon  me  by  their  authority  to 
undertake,  and  would  have  it  be  my  business  to  vindicate  with 
my  pen  against  envy  and  calumny  (which  are  proof  against 
arms)  those  glorious  performances  of  theirs,  (whose  opinion 
of  me  I  take  as  a  very  great  honour,  that  they  should  pitch 
upon  me  before  others  to  be  serviceable  in  this  kind  of  those 
most  valiant  deliverers  of  my  native  country;  and  true  it  is, 
that  from  my  very  youth,  I  have  been  bent  extremely  upon 
such  sort  of  studies,  as  inclined  me,  if  not  to  do  great  things 
myself,  at  least  to  celebrate  those  that  did,)  yet  as  having  no 
confidence  in  any  such  advantages,  I  have  recourse  to  the 
divine  assistance ;  and  invoke  the  great  and  holy  God,  the 
giver  of  all  good  gifts,  that  I  may  as  substantially,  and  as  truly, 
discourse  and  refute  the  sauciness  and  lies  of  this  foreign 
declaimer,  as  our  noble  generals  piously  and  successfully  by 
force  of  arms  broke  the  king's  pride,  and  his  unruly  domineer- 
ing, and  afterwards  put  an  end  to  both  by  inflicting  a  memor- 
able punishment  upon  himself,  and  as  thoroughly  as  a  single 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  5 

person  did  with  ease  but  of  late  confute  and  confound  the  king 
himself,  rising  as  it  were  from  the  grave,  and  recommending 
himself  to  the  people  in  a  book  published  after  his  death,  with 
new  artifices  and  allurements  of  words  and  expressions.  Which 
antagonist  of  mine,  though  he  be  a  foreigner,  and,  though  he 
deny  it  a  thousand  times  over,  but  a  poor  grammarian  ;  yet  not 
contented  with  a  salary  due  to  him  in  that  capacity,  chose  to 
turn  a  pragmatical  coxcomb,  and  not  only  to  intrude  in  state- 
affairs,  but  into  the  affairs  of  a  foreign  state  :  though  he  brings 
along  with  him  neither  modesty,  nor  understanding,  nor  any 
other  qualification  requisite  in  so  great  an  arbitrator,  but  sauci- 
ness,  and  a  little  grammar  only.  Indeed  if  he  had  published 
here,  and  in  English,  the  same  things  as  he  has  now  written  in 
Latin,  such  as  it  is,  I  think  no  man  would  have  thought  it  worth 
while  to  return  an  answer  to  them,  but  would  partly  despise 
them  as  common,  and  exploded  over  and  over  already,  and 
partly  abhor  them  as  sordid  and  tyrannical  maxims,  not  to  be 
endured  even  by  the  most  abject  of  slaves  :  nay,  men  that  have 
sided  with  the  king,  would  have  had  these  thoughts  of  his  book. 
But  since  he  has  swoln  it  to  a  considerable  bulk,  and  dispersed 
it  amongst  foreigners,  who  are  altogether  ignorant  of  our  affairs 
and  constitution,  it  is  fit  that  they  who  mistake  them  should  be 
better  informed ;  and  that  he,  who  is  so  very  forward  to  speak 
ill  of  others,  should  be  treated  in  his  own  kind.  If  it  be  asked, 
why  we  did  not  then  attack  him  sooner?  why  we  suffered  him 
to  triumph  so  long,  and  pride  himself  in  our  silence?  For 
others  I  am  not  to  answer;  for  myself  I  can  boldly  say,  that  I 
had  neither  words  nor  arguments  long  to  seek  for  the  defence 
of  so  good  a  cause,  if  I  had  enjoyed  such  a  measure  of  health, 
as  would  have  endured  the  fatigue  of  writing.  And  being  but 
weak  in  body,  I  am  forced  to  write  by  piecemeal,  and  break 
off  almost  every  hour,  though  the  subject  be  such  as  requires 
an  unintermitted  study  and  intenseness  of  mind.     But  though 


i 


6  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

this  bodily  indisposition  may  be  a  hindrance  to  me  in  setting 
forth  the  just  praises  of  my  most  worthy  countrymen,  who  have 
been  the  saviours  of  their  native  country,  and  whose  exploits, 
worthy  of  immortality,  are  already  famous  all  the  world  over ; 
yet  I  hope  it  will  be  no  difficult  matter  for  me  to  defend  them 
from  the  insolence  of  this  silly  little  scholar,  and  from  that 
saucy  tongue  of  his,  at  least.  Nature  and  laws  would  be  in  art 
ill  case,  if  slavery  should  find  what  to  say  for  itself,  and  liberty 
be  mute  j  and  if  tyrants  should  find  men  to  plead  for  them, 
and  they  that  can  master  and  vanquish  tyrants,  should  not  be 
able  to  find  advocates.  And  it  were  a  deplorable  thing  indeed, 
if  the  reason  mankind  is  endued  withal,  and  which  is  the  gift 
of  God,  should  not  furnish  more  arguments  for  men's  preserva- 
tion, for  their  deliverance,  and,  as  much  as  the  nature  of  the 
thing  will  bear,  for  making  them  equal  to  one  another,  than 
for  their  oppression,  and  for  their  utter  ruin  under  the  domi- 
neering power  of  one  single  person.  Let  me  therefore  enter 
upon  this  noble  cause  with  a  cheerfulness  grounded  upon  this 
assurance,  that  my  adversary's  cause  is  maintained  by  nothing 
but  fraud,  fallacy,  ignorance,  and  barbarity ;  whereas  mine  has 
light,  truth,  reason,  the  practice  and  the  learning  of  the  best 
ages  of  the  world,  on  its  side. 

From  the  'Second  Defence  of  the  People  of  England  in  Reply  to 
an  Anonymous  Libel,  entitled  "The  Cry  of  the  Royal  Blood 
to  Heaven  against  the  English  Parricides  "  ' 

A  grateful  recollection  of  the  divine  goodness  is  the  first  of 
human  obligations ;  and  extraordinary  favours  demand  more 
solemn  and  devout  acknowledgments  :  with  such  acknowledg- 
ments I  feel  it  my  duty  to  begin  this  work.  First,  because  I 
was  born  at  a  time  when  the  virtue  of  my  fellow-citizens,  far 
exceeding  that  of  their  progenitors  in  greatness  of  soul  and 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  7 

vigour  of  enterprise,  having  invoked  Heaven  to  witness  the 
justice  of  their  cause,  and  been  clearly  governed  by  its  direc- 
tions, has  succeeded  in  delivering  the  commonwealth  from  the 
most  grievous  tyranny,  and  religion  from  the  most  ignominious 
degradation.  And  next,  because  when  there  suddenly  arose 
many  who,  as  is  usual  with  the  vulgar,  basely  calumniated  the 
most  illustrious  achievements,  and  when  one  eminent  above 
the  rest,  inflated  with  literary  pride,  and  the  zealous  applauses 
of  his  partisans,  had  in  a  scandalous  publication,  which  was 
particularly  levelled  against  me,  nefariously  undertaken  to  plead 
the  cause  of  despotism,  I,  who  was  neither  deemed  unequal 
to  so  renowned  an  adversary,  nor  to  so  great  a  subject,  was 
particularly  selected  by  the  deliverers  of  our  country,  and  by 
the  general  suffrage  of  the  public,  openly  to  vindicate  the 
rights  of  the  English  nation,  and  consequently  of  liberty  itself. 
Lastly,  because  in  a  matter  of  so  much  moment,  and  which 
excited  such  ardent  expectations,  I  did  not  disappoint  the 
hopes  nor  the  opinions  of  my  fellow-citizens ;  while  men  of 
learning  and  eminence  abroad  honoured  me  with  unmingled 
approbation  j  while  I  obtained  such  a  victory  over  my  oppo- 
nent that,  notwithstanding  his  unparalleled  assurance,  he  was 
obliged  to  quit  the  field  with  his  courage  broken  and  his  repu- 
tation lost ;  and  for  the  three  years  which  he  lived  afterwards, 
much  as  he  menaced  and  furiously  as  he  raved,  he  gave  me  no^ 
further  trouble,  except  that  he  procured  the  paltry  aid  of  some 
despicable  hirelings,  and  suborned  some  of  his  silly  and  ex- 
travagant admirers  to  support  him  under  the  weight  of  the 
unexpected  and  recent  disgrace  which  he  had  experienced. 
This  will  immediately  appear.  Such  are  the  signal  favours 
which  I  ascribe  to  the  divine  beneficence,  and  which  I  thought 
it  right  devoutly  to  commemorate,  not  only  that  I  might  dis- 
charge a  debt  of  gratitude,  but  particularly  because  they  seem 
auspicious  to  the  success  of  my  present  undertaking.     For  who 


8  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

is  there,  who  does  not  identify  the  honour  of  his  country  with 
his  own?  And  what  can  conduce  more  to  the  beauty  or  glory 
of  one's  country  than  the  recovery  not  only  of  its  civil  but  its 
religious  liberty? 


...  I  can  easily  repel  any  charge  which  may  be  adduced 
against  me,  either  of  want  of  courage,  or  want  of  zeal.  For 
though  I  did  not  participate  in  the  toils  or  dangers  of  the  war, 
yet  I  was  at  the  same  time  engaged  in  a  service  not  less  hazard- 
ous to  myself  and  more  beneficial  to  my  fellow-citizens ;  nor,  in 
the  adverse  turns  of  our  affairs,  did  I  ever  betray  any  symptoms 
of  pusillanimity  and  dejection  :  or  show  myself  more  afraid  than 
became  me  of  malice  or  of  death :  For  since  from  my  youth 
I  was  devoted  to  the  pursuits  of  literature,  and  my  mind  had 
always  been  stronger  than  my  body,  I  did  not  court  the  labours 
of  a  camp,  in  which  any  common  person  would  have  been  of 
more  service  than  myself,  but  resorted  to  that  employment  in 
which  my  exertions  were  likely  to  be  of  most  avail.  Thus, 
with  the  better  part  of  my  frame  I  contributed  as  much  as 
possible  to  the  good  of  my  country,  and  to  the  success  of  the 
glorious  cause  in  which  we  were  engaged ;  and  I  thought  that 
if  God  willed  the  success  of  such  glorious  achievements,  it  was 
equally  agreeable  to  his  will  that  there  should  be  others  by 
whom  those  achievements  should  be  recorded  with  dignity  and 
elegance ;  and  that  the  truth,  which  had  been  defended  by 
arms,  should  also  be  defended  by  reason ;  which  is  the  best 
and  only  legitimate  means  of  defending  it.  Hence,  while  I 
applaud  those  who  were  victorious  in  the  field,  I  will  not  com- 
plain of  the  province  which  was  assigned  me  j  but  rather  con- 
gratulate myself  upon  it,  and  thank  the  Author  of  all  good  for 
having  placed  me  in  a  station,  which  may  be  an  object  of  envy 
to  others  rather  than  of  regret  to  myself.     I  am  far  from  wish- 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  9 

ing  to  make  any  vain  or  arrogant  comparisons,  or  to  speak 
ostentatiously  of  myself;  but,  in  a  cause  so  great  and  glorious, 
and  particularly  on  an  occasion  when  I  am  called  by  the  gen- 
eral suffrage  to  defend  the  very  defenders  of  that  cause,  I  can 
hardly  refrain  from  assuming  a  more  lofty  and  swelling  tone 
than  the  simplicity  of  an  exordium  may  seem  to  justify :  and 
much  as  I  may  be  surpassed  in  the  powers  of  eloquence  and 
copiousness  of  diction  by  the  illustrious  orators  of  antiquity,  ; 
yet  the  subject  of  which  I  treat  was  never  surpassed,  in  any  age, 
in  dignity  or  in  interest.  It  has  excited  such  general  and  such 
ardent  expectation,  that  I  imagine  myself,  not  in  the  forum  or 
on  the  rostra,  surrounded  only  by  the  people  of  Athens  or  of 
Rome,  but  about  to  address  in  this,  as  I  did  in  my  former  De- 
fence, the  whole  collective  body  of  people,  cities,  states,  and 
councils  of  the  wise  and  eminent,  through  the  wide  expanse  of 
anxious  and  listening  Europe.  I  seem  to  survey,  as  from  a 
towering  height,  the  far  extended  tracts  of  sea  and  land,  and 
innumerable  crowds  of  spectators,  betraying  in  their  looks  the 
liveliest  interest,  and  sensations  the  most  congenial  with  my 
own.  Here  I  behold  the  stout  and  manly  prowess  of  the  Ger- 
mans disdaining  servitude ;  there  the  generous  and  lively  im- 
petuosity of  the  French ;  on  this  side,  the  calm  and  stately 
valour  of  the  Spaniard  ;  on  that,  the  composed  and  wary  mag- 
nanimity of  the  Italian.  Of  all  the  lovers  of  liberty  and  virtue, 
the  magnanimous  and  the  wise,  in  whatever  quarter  they  may 
be  found,  some  secretly  favour,  others  openly  approve ;  some 
greet  me  with  congratulations  and  applause ;  others,  who  had 
long  been  proof  against  conviction,  at  last  yield  themselves 
captive  to  the  force  of  truth.  Surrounded  by  congregated  mul- 
titudes, I  now  imagine  that,  from  the  columns  of  Hercules  to 
the  Indian  Ocean,  I  behold  the  nations  of  the  earth  recovering 
that  liberty  which  they  so  long  had  lost ;  and  that  the  people 
of  this  island  are  transporting  to  other  countries  a  plant  of 


IO  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

more  beneficial  qualities,  and  more  noble  growth,  than  that 
which  Triptolemus  is  reported  to  have  carried  from  region  to 
region ;  that  they  are  disseminating  the  blessings  of  civilization 
and  freedom  among  cities,  kingdoms,  and  nations.  Nor  shall 
I  approach  unknown,  nor  perhaps  unloved,  if  it  be  told  that  I 
am  the  same  person  who  engaged  in  single  combat  that  fierce 
advocate  of  despotism  ;  till  then  reputed  invincible  in  the  opin- 
ion of  many,  and  in  his  own  conceit ;  who  insolently  challenged 
us  and  our  armies  to  the  combat ;  but  whom,  while  I  repelled 
his  virulence,  I  silenced  with  his  own  weapons ;  and  over 
whom,  if  I  may  trust  to  the  opinions  of  impartial  judges,  I 
gained  a  complete  and  glorious  victory.  That  this  is  the  plain 
unvarnished  fact  appears  from  this  :  that,  after  the  most  noble 
queen  of  Sweden,  than  whom  there  neither  is  nor  ever  was  a 
personage  more  attached  to  literature  and  to  learned  men,  had 
invited  Salmasius  or  Salmatia  (for  to  which  sex  he  belonged  is 
a  matter  of  uncertainty)  to  her  court,  where  he  was  received 
with  great  distinction,  my  Defence  suddenly  surprised  him  in 
the  midst  of  his  security.  It  was  generally  read,  and  by  the 
queen  among  the  rest,  who,  attentive  to  the  dignity  of  her  sta- 
tion, let  the  stranger  experience  no  diminution  of  her  former 
kindness  and  munificence.  But,  with  respect  to  the  rest,  if  I 
may  assert  what  has  been  often  told,  and  was  matter  of  public 
notoriety,  such  a  change  was  instantly  effected  in  the  public 
sentiment,  that  he,  who  but  yesterday  flourished  in  the  highest 
degree  of  favour,  seemed  to-day  to  wither  in  neglect ;  and  soon 
after  receiving  permission  to  depart,  he  left  it  doubtful  among 
many  whether  he  were  more  honoured  when  he  came,  or  more 
disgraced  when  he  went  away ;  and  even  in  other  places  it  is 
clear,  that  it  occasioned  no  small  loss  to  his  reputation  j  and 
all  this  I  have  mentioned,  not  from  any  futile  motives  of  vanity 
or  ostentation,  but  that  I  might  clearly  show,  as  I  proposed  in 
the  beginning,  what  momentous  reasons  I  had  for  commencing 


MIL  TON'S  A  UTOBIO GRAPHY  1 1 

this  work  with  an  effusion  of  gratitude  to  the  Father  of  the  uni- 
verse. Such  a  preface  was  most  honourable  and  appropriate, 
in  which  I  might  prove,  by  an  enumeration  of  particulars,  that 
I  had  not  been  without  my  share  of  human  misery ;  but  that  I 
had,  at  the  same  time,  experienced  singular  marks  of  the  divine 
regard ;  that  in  topics  of  the  highest  concern,  the  most  con- 
nected with  the  exigencies  of  my  country,  and  the  most  benefi- 
cial to  civil  and  religious  liberty ,  the  supreme  wisdom  and 
beneficence  had  invigorated  and  enlarged  my  faculties,  to  de- 
fend the  dearest  interests,  not  merely  of  one  people,  but  of  the 
whole  human  race,  against  the  enemies  of  human  liberty ;  as  it 
were  in  a  full  concourse  of  all  the  nations  on  the  earth  :  and  I 
again  invoke  the  same  Almighty  Being,  that  I  may  still  be  able, 
with  the  same  integrity,  the  same  diligence,  and  the  same  suc- 
cess, to  defend  those  actions  which  have  been  so  gloriously 
achieved ;  while  I  vindicate  the  authors  as  well  as  myself, 
whose  name  has  been  associated  with  theirs,  not  so  much  for 
the  sake  of  honour  as  disgrace,  from  unmerited  ignominy  and 
reproach. 


But  the  conflict  between  me  and  Salmasius  is  now  finally  ter- 
minated by  his  death ;  and  I  will  not  write  against  the  dead ; 
nor  will  I  reproach  him  with  the  loss  of  life  as  he  did  me  with 
the  loss  of  sight ;  though  there  are  some  who  impute  his  death 
to  the  penetrating  severity  of  my  strictures,  which  he  rendered 
only  the  more  sharp  by  his  endeavours  to  resist.  When  he 
saw  the  work  which  he  had  in  hand  proceed  slowly  on,  the 
time  of  reply  elapsed,  the  public  curiosity  subsided,  his  fame 
marred,  and  his  reputation  lost ;  the  favour  of  the  princes, 
whose  cause  he  had  so  ill  defended,  alienated,  he  was  de- 
stroyed, after  three  years  of  grief,  rather  by  the  force  of  depres- 
sion than  disease. 


12  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


If  I  inveigh  against  tyrants,  what  is  this  to  kings?  whom  I 
am  far  from  associating  with  tyrants.  As  much  as  an  honest 
man  differs  from  a  rogue,  so  much  I  contend  that  a  king  differs 
from  a  tyrant.  Whence  it  is  clear,  that  a  tyrant  is  so  far  from 
being  a  king,  that  he  is  always  in  direct  opposition  to  a  king. 
And  he  who  peruses  the  records  of  history,  will  find  that  more 
kings  have  been  subverted  by  tyrants  than  by  their  subjects. 
He,  therefore,  who  would  authorize  the  destruction  of  tyrants, 
does  not  authorize  the  destruction  of  kings,  but  of  the  most 
inveterate  enemies  to  kings. 


Let  us  now  come  to  the  charges  which  were  brought  against 
myself.  Is  there  anything  reprehensible  in  my  manners  or  my 
conduct?  Surely  nothing.  What  no  one,  not  totally  divested 
of  all  generous  sensibility,  would  have  done,  he  reproaches  me 
with  want  of  beauty  and  loss  of  sight. 

1  Monstrum  horrendum,  informe,  ingens,  cui  lumen  ademptum.' 

I  certainly  never  supposed  that  I  should  have  been  obliged 
to  enter  into  a  competition  for  beauty  with  the  Cyclops  ;  but 
he  immediately  corrects  himself,  and  says,  '  though  not  indeed 
huge,  for  there  cannot  be  a  more  spare,  shrivelled,  and  blood- 
less form.'  It  is  of  no  moment  to  say  anything  of  personal 
appearance,  yet  lest  (as  the  Spanish  vulgar,  implicitly  confiding 
in  the  relations  of  their  priests,  believe  of  heretics)  any  one, 
from  the  representations  of  my  enemies,  should  be  led  to 
imagine  that  I  have  either  the  head  of  a  dog,  or  the  horn  of  a 
rhinoceros,  I  will  say  something  on  the  subject,  that  I  may  have 
an  opportunity  of  paying  my  grateful  acknowledgments  to  the 
Deity,  and  of  refuting  the  most  shameless  lies.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve that  I  was  ever  once  noted  for  deformity,  by  any  one  who 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  1 3 

ever  saw  me  j  but  the  praise  of  beauty  I  am  not  anxious  to 
obtain.  My  stature  certainly  is  not  tall ;  but  it  rather  approaches 
the  middle  than  the  diminutive.  Yet  what  if  it  were  diminu- 
tive, when  so  many  men,  illustrious  both  in  peace  and  war, 
have  been  the  same  ?  And  how  can  that  be  called  diminutive, 
which  is  great  enough  for  every  virtuous  achievement  ?  Nor, 
though  very  thin,  was  I  ever  deficient  in  courage  or  in  strength  ; 
and  I  was  wont  constantly  to  exercise  myself  in  the  use  of  the  & 
broadsword,  as  long  as  it  comported  with  my  habit  and  my 
years.  Armed  with  this  weapon,  as  I  usually  was,  I  should 
have  thought  myself  quite  a  match  for  any  one,  though  much 
stronger  than  myself ;  and  I  felt  perfectly  secure  against  the 
assault  of  any  open  enemy.  At  this  moment  I  have  the  same 
courage,  the  same  strength,  though  not  the  same  eyes ;  yet  so 
little  do  they  betray  any  external  appearance  of  injury,  that 
they  are  as  unclouded  and  bright  as  the  eyes  of  those  who  mostly' 
distinctly  see.  In  this  instance  alone  I  am  a  dissembler  against 
my  will.  My  face,  which  is  said  to  indicate  a  total  privation  of 
blood,  is  of  a  complexion  entirely  opposite  to  the  pale  and  the 
cadaverous  ;  so  that,  though  I  am  more  than  forty  years  old,  there 
is  scarcely  any  one  to  whom  I  do  not  appear  ten  years  younger 
than  I  am ;  and  the  smoothness  of  my  skin  is  not,  in  the  least, 
affected  by  the  wrinkles  of  age.  If  there  be  one  particle  of 
falsehood  in  this  relation,  I  should  deservedly  incur  the  ridiculed 
of  many  thousands  of  my  countrymen,  and  even  many  foreigners 
to  whom  I  am  personally  known.  But  if  he,  in  a  matter  so 
foreign  to  his  purpose,  shall  be  found  to  have  asserted  so  many 
shameless  and  gratuitous  falsehoods,  you  may  the  more  readily 
estimate  the  quantity  of  his  veracity  on  other  topics.  Thus 
much  necessity  compelled  me  to  assert  Concerning  my  personal 
appearance.  Respecting  yours,  though  I  have  been  informed 
that  it  is  most  insignificant  and  contemptible,  a  perfect  mirror 
of  the  worthlessness  of  your  character  and  the  malevolence  of 


14  MILTON'S   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

your  heart,  I  say  nothing,  and  no  one  will  be  anxious  that  any- 
thing should  be  said.  I  wish  that  I  could  with  equal  facility 
refute  what  this  barbarous  opponent  has  said  of  my  blindness ; 
but  I  cannot  do  it ;  and  I  must  submit  to  the  affliction.  It  is 
not  so  wretched  to  be  blind,  as  it  is  not  to  be  capable  of  endur- 
ing blindness.  But  why  should  I  not  endure  a  misfortune  which 
it  behooves  everyone  to  be  prepared  to  endure  if  it  should  hap- 
pen ;  which  may,  in  the  common  course  of  things,  happen  to 
any  man ;  and  which  has  been  known  to  happen  to  the  most 
distinguished  and  virtuous  persons  in  history?  Shall  I  mention 
those  wise  and  ancient  bards,  whose  misfortunes  the  gods  are 
said  to  have  compensated  by  superior  endowments,  and  whom 
men  so  much  revered,  that  they  chose  rather  to  impute  their 
want  of  sight  to  the  injustice  of  heaven  than  to  their  own  want 
of  innocence  or  virtue  ?  What  is  reported  of  the  Augur  Tire- 
sias  is  well  known ;  of  whom  Apollonius  sung  thus  in  his  Ar- 
gonautica : 

'  To  men  he  dared  the  will  divine  disclose, 
Nor  feared  what  Jove  might  in  his  wrath  impose. 
The  gods  assigned  him  age,  without  decay, 
But  snatched  the  blessing  of  his  sight  away.' 

But  God  himself  is  truth  ;  in  propagating  which,  as  men  display 
a  greater  integrity  and  zeal,  they  approach  nearer  to  the  simili- 
tude of  God,  and  possess  a  greater  portion  of  his  love.  We 
cannot  suppose  the  deity  envious  of  truth,  or  unwilling  that  it 
should  be  freely  communicated  to  mankind.  The  loss  of  sight, 
therefore,  which  this  inspired  sage,  who  was  so  eager  in  pro- 
moting knowledge  among  men,  sustained,  cannot  be  considered 
as  a  judicial  punishment.  Or  shall  I  mention  those  worthies 
who  were  as  distinguished  for  wisdom  in  the  cabinet  as  for 
valour  in  the  field  ?  And  first,  Timoleon  of  Corinth,  who  deliv- 
ered his  city  and  all  Sicily  from  the  yoke  of  slavery  ;  than  whom 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  1 5 

there  never  lived  in  any  age  a  more  virtuous  man  or  a  more 
incorrupt  statesman :  Next  Appius  Claudius,  whose  discreet 
counsels  in  the  senate,  though  they  could  not  restore  sight  to 
his  own  eyes,  saved  Italy  from  the  formidable  inroads  of  Pyr- 
rhus  :  then  Caecilius  Metellus  the  high-priest,  who  lost  his  sight, 
while  he  saved,  not  only  the  city,  but  the  palladium,  the  protec- 
tion of  the  city,  and  the  most  sacred  relics,  from  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  flames.  On  other  occasions  Providence  has  indeed 
given  conspicuous  proofs  of  its  regard  for  such  singular  exer- 
tions of  patriotism  and  virtue ;  what,  therefore,  happened  to  so 
great  and  so  good  a  man,  I  can  hardly  place  in  the  catalogue 
of  misfortunes.  Why  should  I  mention  others  of  later  times,  as 
Dandolo  of  Venice,  the  incomparable  Doge;  or  Zisca,  the 
bravest  leader  of  the  Bohemians,  and  the  champion  of  the 
cross;  or  Jerome  Zanchius,  and  some  other  theologians  of 
the  highest  reputation?  For  it  is  evident  that  the  patriarch 
Isaac,  than  whom  no  man  ever  enjoyed  more  of  the  divine  re- 
gard, lived  blind  for  many  years ;  and  perhaps  also  his  son 
Jacob,  who  was  equally  an  object  of  the  divine  benevolence. 
And  in  short,  did  not  our  Saviour  himself  clearly  declare  that 
that  poor  man  whom  he  restored  to  sight  had  not  been  born 
blind,  either  on  account  of  his  own  sins  or  those  of  his  progeni- 
tors? And  with  respect  to  myself,  though  I  have  accurately 
examined  my  conduct,  and  scrutinized  my  soul,  I  call  thee,  O 
God,  the  searcher  of  hearts,  to  witness,  that  I  am  not  conscious, 
either  in  the  more  early  or  in  the  later  periods  of  my  life,  of 
having  committed  any  enormity  which  might  deservedly  have 
marked  me  out  as  a  fit  object  for  such  a  calamitous  visitation. 
But  since  my  enemies  boast  that  this  affliction  is  only  a  retri- 
bution for  the  transgressions  of  my  pen,  I  again  invoke  the 
Almighty  to  witness,  that  I  never,  at  any  time,  wrote  anything 
which  I  did  not  think  agreeable  to  truth,  to  justice,  and  to  piety. 
This  was  my  persuasion  then,  and  I  feel  the  same  persuasion 


1 6  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

now.  Nor  was  I  ever  prompted  to  such  exertions  by  the  influ- 
ence of  ambition,  by  the  lust  of  lucre  or  of  praise  ;  it  was  only 
by  the  conviction  of  duty  and  the  feeling  of  patriotism,  a  dis- 
interested passion  for  the  extension  of  civil  and  religious  liberty. 
Thus,  therefore,  when  I  was  publicly  solicited  to  write  a  reply 
to  the  Defence  of  the  royal  cause,  when  I  had  to  contend  with 
the  pressure  of  sickness,  and  with  the  apprehension  of  soon  los- 
ing the  sight  of  my  remaining  eye,  and  when  my  medical  attend- 
ants clearly  announced,  that  if  I  did  engage  in  the  work,  it 
would  be  irreparably  lost,  their  premonitions  caused  no  hesita- 
tion and  inspired  no  dismay.  I  would  not  have  listened  to  the 
voice  even  of  ^Esculapius  himself  from  the  shrine  of  Epidaurus, 
in  preference  to  the  suggestions  of  the  heavenly  monitor  within 
my  breast ;  my  resolution  was  unshaken,  though  the  alternative 
was  either  the  loss  of  my  sight,  or  the  desertion  of  my  duty : 
and  I  called  to  mind  those  two  destinies,  which  the  oracle  of 
Delphi  announced  to  the  son  of  Thetis  : 

1 1  by  my  Goddess-mother  have  been  warned, 
The  silver- footed  Thetis,  that  o'er  me 
A  double  chance  of  destiny  impends  : 
If  here  remaining,  round  the  walls  of  Troy 
I  wage  the  war,  I  ne'er  shall  see  my  home, 
But  then  undying  glory  shall  be  mine : 
If  I  return,  and  see  my  native  land, 
My  glory  all  is  gone;  but  length  of  life 
Shall  then  be  mine,  and  death  be  long  deferred.' 

—  Iliad,  ix.  410-416. 

I  considered  that  many  had  purchased  a  less  good  by  a  greater 
evil,  the  meed  of  glory  by  the  loss  of  life ;  but  that  I  might  pro- 
cure great  good  by  little  suffering ;  that  though  I  am  blind,  I 
might  still  discharge  the  most  honourable  duties,  the  perform- 
ance of  which,  as  it  is  something  more  durable  than  glory, 
ought  to  be  an  object  of  superior  admiration  and  esteem ;  I 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  \>/ 

resolved,  therefore,  to  make  the  short  interval  of  sight,  which 
was  left  me  to  enjoy,  as  beneficial  as  possible  to  the  public 
interest.  Thus  it  is  clear  by  what  motives  I  was  governed  in 
the  measures  which  I  took,  and  the  losses  which  I  sustained. 
Let  then  the  calumniators  of  the  divine  goodness  cease  to  re- 
vile, or  to  make  me  the  object  of  their  superstitious  imagina- 
tions. Let  them  consider,  that  my  situation,  such  as  it  is,' is 
neither  an  object  of  my  shame  nor  my  regret,  that  my  resolu- 
tions are  too  firm  to  be  shaken,  that  I  am  not  depressed  by 
any  sense  of  the  divine  displeasure ;  that,  on  the  other  hand, 
in  the  most  momentous  periods,  I  have  had  full  experience  of 
the  divine  favour  and  protection ;  and  that,  in  the  solace  and 
the  strength  which  have  been  infused  into  me  from  above,  I 
have  been  enabled  to  do  the  will  of  God ;  that  I  may  oftener 
think  on  what  he  has  bestowed,  than  on  what  he  has  withheld ; 
that,  in  short,  I  am  unwilling  to  exchange  my  consciousness  of 
rectitude  with  that  of  any  other  person  j  and  that  I  feel  the 
recollection  a  treasured  store  of  tranquillity  and  delight.  But,  if 
the  choice  were  necessary,  I  would,  sir,  prefer  my  blindness  to 
yours ;  yours  is  a  cloud  spread  over  the  mind,  which  darkens 
both  the  light  of  reason  and  of  conscience  ;  mine  keeps  from  my 
view  only  the  coloured  surfaces  of  things,  while  it  leaves  me  at 
liberty  to  contemplate  the  beauty  and  stability  of  virtue  and  of 
truth.  How  many  things  are  there  besides  which  I  would  not 
willingly  see  ;  how  many  which  I  must  see  against  my  will ;  and 
how  few  which  I  feel  any  anxiety  to  see  !  There  is,  as  the 
apostle  has  remarked,  a  way  to  strength  through  weakness.  Let 
me  then  be  the  most  feeble  creature  alive,  as  long  as  that  feeble- 
ness serves  to  invigorate  the  energies  of  my  rational  and  immor- 
tal spirit ;  as  long  as  in  that  obscurity,  in  which  I  am  enveloped, 
the  light  of  the  divine  presence  more  clearly  shines,  then,  in 
proportion  as  I  am  weak,  I  shall  be  invincibly  strong ;  and  in 
proportion  as  I  am  blind,  I  shall  more  clearly  see.  Oh,  that  I 
c 


1 8  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

may  thus  be  perfected  by  feebleness,  and  irradiated  by  obscu- 
rity !  And,  indeed,  in  my  blindness,  I  enjoy  in  no  inconsidera- 
ble degree  the  favour  of  the  Deity,  who  regards  me  with  more 
tenderness  and  compassion  in  proportion  as  I  am  able  to  be- 
hold nothing  but  himself.  Alas  !  for  him  who  insults  me,  who 
maligns  and  merits  public  execration  !  For  the  divine  law  not 
only  shields  me  from  injury,  but  almost  renders  me  too  sacred 
to  attack ;  not  indeed  so  much  from  the  privation  of  my  sight, 
as  from  the  overshadowing  of  those  heavenly  wings  which  seem 
to  have  occasioned  this  obscurity ;  and  which,  when  occasioned, 
he  is  wont  to  illuminate  with  an  interior  light,  more  precious 
and  more  pure.  To  this  I  ascribe  the  more  tender  assiduities 
of  my  friends,  their  soothing  attentions,  their  kind  visits,  their 
reverential  observances;  .  .  .  This  extraordinary  kindness 
which  I  experience,  cannot  be  any  fortuitous  combination  ;  and 
friends,  such  as  mine,  do  not  suppose  that  all  the  virtues  of  a 
man  are  contained  in  his  eyes.  Nor  do  the  persons  of  princi- 
pal distinction  in  the  commonwealth  suffer  me  to  be  bereaved 
of  comfort,  when  they  see  me  bereaved  of  sight,  amid  the  exer- 
tions which  I  made,  the  zeal  which  I  showed,  and  the  dangers 
which  I  run  for  the  liberty  which  I  love.  But,  soberly  reflecting 
on  the  casualties  of  human  life,  they  show  me  favour  and  indul- 
gence, as  to  a  soldier  who  has  served  his  time,  and  kindly  con- 
cede to  me  an  exemption  from  care  and  toil.  They  do  not 
strip  me  of  the  badges  of  honour  which  I  have  once  worn  ;  they 
do  not  deprive  me  of  the  places  of  public  trust  to  which  I  have 
been  appointed;  they  do  not  abridge  my  salary  or  emoluments  ; 
which,  though  1  may  not  do  so  much  to  deserve  as  I  did  for- 
merly, they  are  too  considerate  and  too  kind  to  take  away ;  and, 
in  short,  they  honour  me  as  much  as  the  Athenians  did  those 
whom  they  determined  to  support  at  the  public  expense  in  the 
Prytaneum.  Thus,  while  both  God  and  man  unite  in  solacing 
me  under  the  weight  of  my  affliction,  let  no  one  lament  my  loss 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  1 9 

of  sight  in  so  honourable  a  cause.  And  let  me  not  indulge  in 
unavailing  grief,  or  want  the  courage  either  to  despise  the  re- 
vilers  of  my  blindness,  or  the  forbearance  easily  to  pardon  the 
offence. 


I  must  crave  the  indulgence  of  the  reader  if  I  have  said 
already,  or  shall  say  hereafter,  more  of  myself  than  I  wish  to 
say ;  that,  if  I  cannot  prevent  the  blindness  of  my  eyes,  the 
oblivion  or  the  defamation  of  my  name,  I  may  at  least  rescue 
my  life  from  that  species  of  obscurity,  which  is  the  associate  of 
unprincipled  depravity.  This  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  do 
on  more  accounts  than  one ;  first,  that  so  many  good  and 
learned  men  among  the  neighbouring  nations,  who  read  my 
works,  may  not  be  induced  by  this  fellow's  calumnies  to  alter 
the  favourable  opinion  which  they  have  formed  of  me ;  but 
may  be  persuaded  that  I  am  not  one  who  ever  disgraced  beauty 
of  sentiment  by  deformity  of  conduct,  or  the  maxims  of  a  free- 
man by  the  actions  of  a  slave ;  and  that  the  whole  tenor  of  my 
life  has,  by  the  grace  of  God,  hitherto  been  unsullied  by  enor- 
mity or  crime.  Next,  that  those  illustrious  worthies,  who  are 
the  objects  of  my  praise,  may  know  that  nothing  could  afflict 
me  with  more  shame  than  to  have  any  vices  of  mine  diminish 
the  force  or  lessen  the  value  of  my  panegyric  upon  them ;  and, 
lastly,  that  the  people  of  England,  whom  fate,  or  duty,  or  their 
own  virtues,  have  incited  me  to  defend,  may  be  convinced 
from  the  purity  and  integrity  of  my  life,  that  my  defence,  if 
it  do  not  redound  to  their  honour,  can  never  be  considered  as 
their  disgrace.  l\  will  now  mention  who  and  whence  I  am.  I 
was  born  in  London,  of  an  honest  family ;  my  father  was  dis- 
tinguished by  the  undeviating  integrity  of  his  life  ;  my  mother, 
by  the  esteem  in  which  she  was  held,  and  the  alms  which  she 
bestowed.     My  father  destined  me  from  a  child  to  the   pur- 


20  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

suits  of  literature ;  and  my  appetite  for  knowledge  was  so 
voracious,  that,  from  twelve  years  of  age,  I  hardly  ever  left  my 
studies,  or  went  to  bed  before  midnight.  This  primarily  led  to 
my  loss  of  sight.  My  eyes  were  naturally  weak,  and  I  was 
subject  to  frequent  headaches ;  which,  however,  could  not  chill 
the  ardour  of  my  curiosity,  or  retard  the  progress  of  my 
improvement.  My  father  had  me  daily  instructed  in  the  gram- 
mar-school, and  by  other  masters  at  home.  He  then,  after 
I  had  acquired  a  proficiency  in  various  languages,  and  had 
made  a  considerable  progress  in  philosophy,  sent  me  to  the 
University  of  Cambridge.  Here  I  passed  seven  years  in  the 
usual  course  of  instruction  and  study,  with  the  approbation  of 
the  good,  and  without  any  stain  upon  my  character,  till  I  took 
the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts.  After  this  I  did  not,  as  this 
miscreant  feigns,  run  away  into  Italy,  but  of  my  own  accord 
retired  to  my  father's  house,  whither  I  was  accompanied  by  the 
regrets  of  most  of  the  fellows  of  the  college,  who  showed  me 
no  common  marks  of  friendship  and  esteem.  On  my  father's 
estate,  where  he  had  determined  to  pass  the  remainder  of  his 
days,  I  enjoyed  an  interval  of  uninterrupted  leisure,  which  I 
entirely  devoted  to  the  perusal  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics  ; 
though  I  occasionally  visited  the  metropolis,  either  for  the  sake 
of  purchasing  books,  or  of  learning  something  new  in  mathe- 
matics or  in  music,  in  which  I,  at  that  time,  found  a  source  of 
pleasure  and  amusement.  In  this  manner  I  spent  five  years 
till  my  mother's  death.  I  then  became  anxious  to  visit  foreign 
parts,  and  particularly  Italy.  My  father  gave  me  his  permis- 
sion, and  I  left  home  with  one  servant.  On  my  departure,  the 
celebrated  Henry  Wotton,  who  had  long  been  king  James's 
ambassador  at  Venice,  gave  me  a  signal  proof  of  his  regard,  in 
an  elegant  letter  which  he  wrote,  breathing  not  only  the  warmest 
friendship,  but  containing  some  maxims  of  conduct  which  I 
found  very  useful  in  my  travels.      The  noble  Thomas  Scuda- 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  21 

more,  king  Charles's  ambassador,  to  whom  I  carried  letters  of 
recommendation,  received  me  most  courteously  at  Paris.  His 
lordship  gave  me  a  card  of  introduction  to  the  learned  Hugo 
Grotius,  at  that  time  ambassador  from  the  queen  of  Sweden  to 
the  French  court ;  whose  acquaintance  I  anxiously  desired,  and 
to  whose  house  I  was  accompanied  by  some  of  his  lordship's 
friends.  A  few  days  after,  when  I  set  out  for  Italy,  he  gave 
me  letters  to  the  English  merchants  on  my  route,  that  they 
might  show  me  any  civilities  in  their  power.  Taking  ship  at 
Nice,  I  arrived  at  Genoa,  and  afterwards  visited  Leghorn,  Pisa, 
and  Florence.  In  the  latter  city,  which  I  have  always  more 
particularly  esteemed  for  the  elegance  of  its  dialect,  its  genius, 
and  its  taste,  I  stopped  about  two  months ;  when  I  contracted 
an  intimacy  with  many  persons  of  rank  and  learning ;  and  was 
a  constant  attendant  at  their  literary  parties  ;  a  practice  which 
prevails  there,  and  tends  so  much  to  the  diffusion  of  knowledge, 
and  the  preservation  of  friendship.  No  time  will  ever  abolish 
the  agreeable  recollections  which  I  cherish  of  Jacopo  Gaddi, 
Carlo  Dati,  Frescobaldi,  Coltellini,  Bonmattei,  Chimentelli, 
Francini,  and  many  others.  From  Florence  I  went  to  Siena, 
thence  to  Rome,  where,  after  I  had  spent  about  two  months  in 
viewing  the  antiquities  of  that  renowned  city,  where  I  experi- 
enced the  most  friendly  attentions  from  Lucas  Holstenius,  and 
other  learned  and  ingenious  men,  I  continued  my  route  to 
Naples.  There  I  was  introduced  by  a  certain  recluse,  with 
whom  I  had  travelled  from  Rome,  to  Giovanni  Battista  Manso, 
marquis  of  Villa,  a  nobleman  of  distinguished  rank  and  author- 
ity, to  whom  Torquato  Tasso,  the  illustrious  poet,  inscribed  his 
book  on  friendship.  During  my  stay,  he  gave  me  singular 
proofs  of  his  regard  :  he  himself  conducted  me  around  the  city, 
and  to  the  palace  of  the  viceroy  ;  and  more  than  once  paid  me 
a  visit  at  my  lodgings.  On  my  departure  he  gravely  apologized 
for  not  having  shown  me  more  civility,  which  he  said  he  had 


22  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

been  restrained  from  doing,  because  I  had  spoken  with  so  little 
reserve  on  matters  of  religion.  When  I  was  preparing  to  pass 
over  into  Sicily  and  Greece,  the  melancholy  intelligence  which 
I  received  of  the  civil  commotions  in  England  made  me 
alter  my  purpose ;  for  I  thought  it  base  to  be  travelling  for 
amusement  abroad,  while  my  fellow-citizens  were  fighting  for 
liberty  at  home.  While  I  was  on  my  way  back  to  Rome,  some 
merchants  informed  me  that  the  English  Jesuits  had  formed  a 
plot  against  me  if  I  returned  to  Rome,  because  I  had  spoken 
too  freely  on  religion ;  for  it  was  a  rule  which  I  laid  down  to 
myself  in  those  places,  never  to  be  the  first  to  begin  any  con- 
versation on  religion ;  but  if  any  questions  were  put  to  me 
concerning  my  faith,  to  declare  it  without  any  reserve  or  fear. 
I,  nevertheless,  returned  to  Rome.  I  took  no  steps  to  conceal 
either  my  person  or  my  character ;  and  for  about  the  space  of 
two  months  I  again  openly  defended,  as  I  had  done  before,  the 
reformed  religion  in  the  very  metropolis  of  popery.  By  the 
favour  of  God,  I  got  safe  back  to  Florence,  where  I  was 
received  with  as  much  affection  as  if  I  had  returned  to  my 
native  country.  There  I  stopped  as  many  months  as  I  had 
done  before,  except  that  I  made  an  excursion  for  a  few  days 
to  Lucca ;  and,  crossing  the  Apennines,  passed  through  Bologna 
and  Ferrara  to  Venice.  After  I  had  spent  a  month  in  survey- 
ing the  curiosities  of  this  city,  and  had  put  on  board  a  ship  the 
books  which  I  had  collected  in  Italy,  I  proceeded  through 
Verona  and  Milan,  and  along  the  Leman  lake  to  Geneva.  The 
mention  of  this  city  brings  to  my  recollection  the  slandering 
More,  and  makes  me  again  call  the  Deity  to  witness,  that  in  all 
those  places  in  which  vice  meets  with  so  little  discouragement, 
and  is  practised  with  so  little  shame,  1  never  once  deviated 
from  the  paths  of  integrity  and  virtue,  and  perpetually  reflected 
that,  though  my  conduct  might  escape  the  notice  of  men,  it 
could  not  elude  the  inspection  of  God.     At   Geneva  I   held 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  2$ 

daily  conferences  with  John  Diodati,  the  learned  professor 
of  Theology.  Then  pursuing  my  former  route  through  France, 
I  returned  to  my  native  country,  after  an  absence  of  one  year 
and  about  three  months;  at  the  time  when  Charles,  having 
broken  the  peace,  was  renewing  what  is  called  the  episcopal 
war  with  the  Scots,  in  which  the  royalists  being  routed  in  the 
first  encounter,  and  the  English  being  universally  and  justly 
disaffected,  the  necessity  of  his  affairs  at  last  obliged  him  to 
convene  a  parliament.  As  soon  as  I  was  able,  I  hired  a  spa- 
cious house  in  the  city  for  myself  and  my  books  ;  where  I  again 
with  rapture  renewed  my  literary  pursuits,  and  where  I  calmly 
awaited  the  issue  of  the  contest,  which  I  trusted  to  the  wise 
conduct  of  Providence,  and  to  the  courage  of  the  people.  The 
vigour  of  the  parliament  had  begun  to  humble  the  pride  of  the 
bishops.  As  long  as  the  liberty  of  speech  was  no  longer  sub- 
ject to  control,  all  mouths  began  to  be  opened  against  the 
bishops ;  some  complained  of  the  vices  of  the  individuals, 
others  of  those  of  the  order.  They  said  that  it  was  unjust  that 
they  alone  should  differ  from  the  model  of  other  reformed 
churches  ;  that  the  government  of  the  church  should  be  accord- 
ing to  the  pattern  of  other  churches,  and  particularly  the  word 
of  God.  This  awakened  all  my  attention  and  my  zeal.  I  saw 
that  a  way  was  opening  for  the  establishment  of  real  liberty ; 
that  the  foundation  was  laying  for  the  deliverance  of  man  from 
the  yoke  of  slavery  and  superstition;  that  the  principles  of 
religion,  which  were  the  first  objects  of  our  care,  would  exert 
a  salutary  influence  on  the  manners  and  constitution  of  the 
republic ;  and  as  I  had  from  my  youth  studied  the  distinctions 
between  religious  and  civil  rights,  I  perceived  that  if  I  ever 
wished  to  be  of  use,  I  ought  at  least  not  to  be  wanting  to  my 
country,  to  the  church,  and  to  so  many  of  my  fellow-Christians, 
in  a  crisis  of  so  much  danger;  I  therefore  determined  to 
relinquish  the  other  pursuits  in  which  I  was  engaged,  and  to 


24  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  gg 

transfer  the  whole  force  of  my  talents  and  my  industry  to  this 
one  important  object.  I  accordingly  wrote  two  books  to  a 
friend  concerning  the  reformation  of  the  church  of  England.  ^ 
Afterwards,  when  two  bishops  of  superior  distinction  vindicate/i 
their  privileges  against  some  principal  ministers,  I  thought  that 
on  those  topics,  to  the  consideration  of  which  I  was  led  solely 
by  my  love  of  truth,  and  my  reverence  for  Christianity,  I 
should  not  probably  write  worse  than  those  who  were  contend- 
ing only  for  their  own  emoluments  and  usurpations.  I  there- 
fore answered  the  one  in  two  books,  of  which  the  first  is 
inscribed,  Concerning  Prelatical  Episcopacy,  and  the  other 
Concerning  the  Mode  of  Ecclesiastical  Government ;  and  I 
replied  to  the  other  in  some  Animadversions,  and  soon  after  in 
an  Apology.  On  this  occasion  it  was  supposed  that  I  brought 
a  timely  succour  to  the  ministers,  who  were  hardly  a  match  for 
the  eloquence  of  their  opponents ;  and  from  that  time  I  was 
actively  employed  in  refuting  any  answers  that  appeared. 
When  the  bishops  could  no  longer  resist  the  multitude  of  their 
assailants,  I  had  leisure  to  turn  my  thoughts  to  other  subjects ; 
to  the  promotion  of  real  and  substantial  liberty;  which  is 
rather  to  be  sought  from  within  than  from  without  j  and  whose 
existence  depends,  not  so  much  on  the  terror  of  the  sword,  as 
on  sobriety  of  conduct  and  integrity  of  life.  When,  therefore, 
I  perceived  that  there  were  three  species  of  liberty  which  are 
essential  to  the  happiness  of  social  life  —  religious,  domestic, 
and  civil ;  and  as  I  had  already  written  concerning  the  first, 
and  the  magistrates  were  strenuously  active  in  obtaining  the 
third,  I  determined  to  turn  my  attention  to  the  second,  or  the 
domestic  species.  As  this  seemed  to  involve  three  material 
questions,  the  conditions  of  the  conjugal  tie,  the  education  of 
the  children,  and  the  free  publication  of  the  thoughts,  I  made 
them  objects  of  distinct  consideration.  I  explained  my  senti- 
ments, not  only  concerning  the  solemnization  of  the  marriage, 


i  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  2$ 

but  the  dissolution,  if  circumstances  rendered  it  necessary; 
and  I  drew  my  arguments  from  the  divine  law,  which  Christ 
Tlid  not  abolish,  or  publish  another  more  grievous  than  that  of 
Moses.  I  stated  my  own  opinions,  and  those  of  others,  con- 
cerning the  exclusive  exception  of  fornication,  which  our  illus- 
trious Selden  has  since,  in  his  Hebrew  Wife,  more  copiously 
discus^ecl ;  for  he  in  vain  makes  a  vaunt  of  liberty  in  the 
senate  or  in  the  forum,  who  languishes  under  the  vilest  servi- 
tude, to  an  inferior  at  home.  On  this  subject,  therefore,  I 
published  %ome  books  which  were  more  particularly  necessary 
at  that  time,  whe#  man  and  wife  were  often  the  most  inveter- 
ate foes,  when  the  man  often  staid  to  take  care  of  his  children 
at  home,  while  the  mother  of  the  family  was  seen  in  the  camp 
of  the  enemy,  threatening  death  and  destruction  to  her  hus- 
band. I  then  discussed  the  principles  of  education  in  a  sum- 
mary manner,  but  sufficiently  copious  for  those  who  attend 
seriously  to  the  subject;  than  which  nothing  can  be  more 
necessary  to  principle  the  minds  of  men  in  virtue,  the  only 
genuine  source  of  political  and  individual  liberty,  the  only  true 
safeguard  of  states,  the  bulwark  of  their  prosperity  and  renown. 
Lastly,  I  wrote  my  Areopagitica,  in  order  to  deliver  the  press 
from  the  restraints  with  which  it  was  encumbered;  that  the 
power  of  determining  what  was  true  and  what  was  false,  what 
ought  to  be  published  and  what  to  be  suppressed,  might  no 
longer  be  entrusted  to  a  few  illiterate  and  illiberal  individuals, 
who  refused  their  sanction  to  any  work  which  contained 
views  or  sentiments  at  all  above  the  level  of  the  vulgar  super- 
stition. On  the  last  species  of  civil  liberty,  I  said  nothing, 
because  I  saw  that  sufficient  attention  was  paid  to  it  by  the 
magistrates;  nor  did  I  write  anything  on  the  prerogative  of 
the  crown,  till  the  king,  voted  an  enemy  by  the  parliament, 
and  vanquished  in  the  field,  was  summoned  before  the  tri- 
bunal which  condemned  him  to  lose  his  head.     But  when,  at 


26  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

length,  some  Presbyterian  ministers,  who  had  formerly  been 
the  most  bitter  enemies  to  Charles,  became  jealous  of  the 
growth  of  the  Independents,  and  of  their  ascendency  in  the 
parliament,  most  tumultuously  clamoured  against  the  sen- 
tence, and  did  all  in  their  power  to  prevent  the  execution, 
though  they  were  not  angry,  so  much  on  account  of  the  act 
itself,  as  because  it  was  not  the  act  of  their  party  j  and  when 
they  dared  to  affirm,  that  the  doctrine  of  the  protestants,  and 
of  all  the  reformed  churches,  was  abhorrent  to  such  an  atro- 
cious proceeding  against  kings ;  I  thought  that  it  became  me 
to  oppose  such  a  glaring  falsehood ;  and  accordingly,  without 
any  immediate  or  personal  application  to  Charles,  I  showed,  in 
an  abstract  consideration  of  the  question,  what  might  lawfully 
be  done  against  tyrants ;  and  in  support  of  what  I  advanced, 
produced  the  opinions  of  the  most  celebrated  divines ;  while  I 
vehemently  inveighed  against  the  egregious  ignorance  or 
effrontery  of  men,  who  professed  better  things,  and  from  whom 
better  things  might  have  been  expected.  That  book  did  not 
make  its  appearance  till  after  the  death  of  Charles ;  and  was 
written  rather  to  reconcile  the  minds  of  the  people  to  the 
event,  than  to  discuss  the  legitimacy  of  that  particular  sentence 
which  concerned  the  magistrates,  and  which  was  already 
executed.  Such  were  the  fruits  of  my  private  studies,  which 
I  gratuitously  presented  to  the  church  and  to  the  state ;  and 
for  which  I  was  recompensed  by  nothing  but  impunity ;  though 
the  actions  themselves  procured  me  peace  of  conscience,  and 
the  approbation  of  the  good ;  while  I  exercised  that  freedom  of 
discussion  which  I  loved.  Others,  without  labour  or  desert, 
got  possession  of  honours  and  emoluments ;  but  no  one  ever 
knew  me  either  soliciting  anything  myself  or  through  the 
medium  of  my  friends ;  ever  beheld  me  in  a  supplicating  posture 
at  the  doors  of  the  senate,  or  the  levees  of  the  great.  I  usually 
kept  myself  secluded  at  home,  where  my  own  property,  part 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  2*J 

of  which  had  been  withheld  during  the  civil  commotions,  and 
part  of  which  had  been  absorbed  in  the  oppressive  contributions 
which  I  had  to  sustain,  afforded  me  a  scanty  subsistence. 
When  I  was  released  from  these  engagements,  and  thought  that 
I  was  about  to  enjoy  an  interval  of  uninterrupted  ease,  I  turned 
my  thoughts  to  a  continued  history  of  my  country,  from  the 
earliest  times  to  the  present  period.  I  had  already  finished 
four  books,  when,  after  the  subversion  of  the  monarchy,  and 
the  establishment  of  a  republic,  I  was  surprised  by  an  invi- 
tation from  the  council  of  state,  who  desired  my  services  in 
the  office  for  foreign  affairs.  A  book  appeared  soon  after, 
which  was  ascribed  to  the  king,  and  contained  the  most  invidi- 
ous charges  against  the  parliament.  I  was  ordered  to  answer 
it ;  and  opposed  the  Iconoclast  to  his  Icon.  I  did  not  insult 
over  fallen  majesty,  as  is  pretended ;  I  only  preferred  queen 
Truth  to  king  Charles.  '  The  charge  of  insult,  which  I  saw  that 
the  malevolent  would  urge,  I  was  at  some  pains  to  remove  in 
the  beginning  of  the  work ;  and  as  often  as  possible  in  other 
places.  Salmasius  then  appeared,  to  whom  they  were  not,  as 
More  says,  long  in  looking  about  for  an  opponent,  but  immedi- 
ately appointed  me,  who  happened  at  the  time  to  be  present  in 
the  council.  I  have  thus,  sir,  given  some  account  of  myself, 
in  order  to  stop  your  mouth,  and  to  remove  any  prejudices 
which  your  falsehoods  and  misrepresentations  might  cause  even 
good  men  to  entertain  against  me.  I  tell  thee  then,  thou 
mass  of  corruption,  to  hold  thy  peace;  for  the  more  you 
malign,  the  more  you  will  compel  me  to  confute;  which  will 
only  serve  to  render  your  iniquity  more  glaring,  and  my  integ- 
rity more  manifest. 


28  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

>'-  "" 

To  Charles  Diodati,  Milton's  schoolfellow  at  St.  Paul's  School, 
ana7  his  dearest  friend 

At  length,  dear  friend,  your  letter  has  reached  me,  and  the 
messenger-paper  has  brought  me  your  words  —  brought  me 
them  from  the  western  shore  of  Chester's  Dee,  where  with 
prone  stream  it  seeks  the  Vergivian  wave.  Much,  believe  me, 
it  delights  me  that  foreign  lands  have  nurtured  a  heart  so 
loving  of  ours,  and  a  head  so  faithfully  mine ;  and  that  a  dis- 
tant part  of  the  country  now  owes  me  my  sprightly  companion, 
whence,  however,  it  means  soon,  on  being  summoned,  to  send 
him  back.  Me  at  present  that  city  contains  which  the  Thames 
washes  with  its  ebbing  wave ;  and  me,  not  unwilling,  my 
father's  house  now  possesses.  At  present  it  is  not  my  care  to 
revisit  the  reedy  Cam ;  nor  does  the  love  of  my  forbidden 
rooms  yet  cause  me  grief  (nee  dudum  vetiti  me  laris  angit 
amor).  Nor  do  naked  fields  please  me,  where  soft  shades  are 
not  to  be  had.  How  ill  that  place  suits  the  votaries  of  Apollo  ! 
Nor  am  I  in  the  humour  still  to  bear  the  threats  of  a  harsh 
master  (duri  minas  perferre  magistri),  and  other  things  not 
to  be  submitted  to  by  my  genius  (cceteraque  ingenio  non 
subeunda  meo).  If  this  be  exile  (si  sit  hoc  exi&'um),  to  have 
gone  to  my  father's  house,  and,  free  from  cares,  to  be  pursu- 
ing agreeable  relaxations,  then  certainly  I  retuse  neither  the 
name  nor  the  lot  of  a  fugitive  (non  ego  vel  profugi  nomen  sor- 
temque  recuso),  and  gladly  I  enjoy  the  condition  of  exile  (loztus 
et  exilii  conditione  fruor).  Oh  that  that  poet,  the  tearful 
exile  in  the  Pontic  territory  had  never  endured  worse  things  ! 
Then  had  he  nothing  yielded  to  Ionian  Homer,  nor  would  the 
supreme  reputation  of  having  surpassed  him  be  yours,  O 
Maro  !     For  it  is  in  my  power  to  give  my  leisure  up  to  the 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  29 

placid  Muses ;  and  books,  which  are  my  life,  have  me  all  to 
themselves.  When  I  am  wearied,  the  pomp  of  the  winding 
theatre  takes  me  hence,  and  the  garrulous  stage  calls  me  to 
its  noisy  applauses  —  whether  it  be  the  wary  old  gentleman 
that  is  heard,  or  the  prodigal  heir ;  whether  the  wooer,  or  the 
soldier  with  his  helmet  doffed,  is  on  the  boards,  or  the  lawyer, 
prosperous  with  a  ten  years'  lawsuit,  is  mouthing  forth  his 
gibberish  to  the  unlearned  forum.  Often  the  wily  servant  is 
abetting  the  lover-son,  and  at  every  turn  cheating  the  very 
nose  of  the  stiff  father ;  often  there  the  maiden,  wondering  at 
her  new  sensations,  knows  not  what  love  is,  and,  while  she 
knows  not,  loves.  Or,  again,  furious  Tragedy  shakes  her  bloody 
sceptre  and  rolls  her  eyes,  with  dishevelled  locks,  and  it  is  a 
pain  to  look,  and  yet  it  is  a  pleasure  to  have  looked  and  been 
pained ;  for  sometimes  there  is  a  sweet  bitterness  in  tears. 
Or  the  unhappy  boy  leaves  his  untasted  joys,  and  falls  off,  a 
pitiful  object,  from  his  broken  love ;  or  the  fierce  avenger  of 
crime  recrosses  the  Styx  from  the  shades,  perturbing  guilty 
souls  with  his  funeral  torch.  Or  the  house  of  Pelops  or  that 
of  noble  Ilium  is  in  grief,  or  the  palace  of  Creon  expiates  its 
incestuous  ancestry.  But  not  always  within  doors,  nor  even 
in  the  city,  do  we  mope  j  nor  does  the  season  of  spring  pass 
by  unused  by  us.  The  grove  also  planted  with  thick  elms,  has 
our  company,  and  the  noble  shade  of  a  suburban  neighbor- 
hood. Very  often  here,  as  stars  breathing  forth  mild  flames, 
you  may  see  troops  of  maidens  passing  by.  Ah  !  how  often 
have  I  seen  the  wonders  of  a  worthy  form,  which  might  even 
repair  the  old  age  of  Jove  !  Ah  !  how  often  have  I  seen  eyes 
surpassing  all  gems  and  whatever  lights  revolve  round  either 
pole ;  and  necks  twice  whiter  than  the  arms  of  living  Pelops, 
and  than  the  way  which  flows  tinged  with  pure  nectar ;  and 
the  exquisite  grace  of  the  forehead  ;  and  the  trembling  hair 
which  cheating  love  spreads  as  his  golden  nets;  and  the  in- 


3<D  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

viting  cheeks,  compared  with  which  hyacinthine  purple  is 
poor,  and  the  very  blush,  Adonis,  of  thy  own  flower  !  .  .  .  But 
for  me,  while  the  forbearance  of  the  blind  boy  allows  it,  I 
prepare  as  soon  as  possible  to  leave  these  happy  walls,  and, 
using  the  help  of  divine  all-heal,  to  flee  far  from  the  infamous 
dwellings  of  the  sorceress  Circe.  It  is  fixed  that  I  do  go  back 
to  the  rushy  marshes  of  Cam,  and  once  more  approach  the 
murmur  of  the  hoarse-murmuring  school.  Meanwhile  accept 
the  little  gift  of  your  faithful  friend,  and  these  few  words  forced 
into  alternate  measures. 

To  Alexander  Gill,  Jr.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  III.) 

.  .  .  Indeed,  every  time  I  recollect  your  almost  constant 
conversations  with  me  (which  even  in  this  Athens,  the  Uni- 
versity itself,  I  long  after  and  miss),  I  think  immediately,  and 
not  without  grief,  what  a  quantity  of  benefit  my  absence  from 
you  has  cheated  me  of,  —  me  who  never  left  your  company 
without  a  manifest  increase  and  e7ri'|o(m  of  literary  knowledge, 
just  as  if  I  had  been  to  some  emporium  of  learning.  Truly, 
amongst  us  here,  as  far  as  I  know,  there  are  hardly  one  or 
two  that  do  not  fly  off  unfeathered  to  Theology  while  all  but 
rude  and  uninitiated  in  either  Philology  or  Philosophy, — con- 
tent also  with  the  slightest  possible  touch  of  Theology  itself, 
just  as  much  as  may  suffice  for  sticking  together  a  little  ser- 
mon anyhow,  and  stitching  it  over  with  worn  patches  obtained 
promiscuously :  a  fact  giving  reason  for  the  dread  that  by 
degrees  there  may  break  in  among  our  clergy  the  priestly 
ignorance  of  a  former  age.  For  myself,  finding  almost  no 
real  companions  in  study  here,  I  should  certainly  be  looking 
straight  back  to  London,  were  I  not  meditating  a  retirement 
during  this  summer  vacation  into  a  deep  literary  leisure  and 
a  period  of  hiding,  so  to  speak,  in  the  bowers  of  the  Muses. 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  3 1 

But,  as  this  is  your  own  daily  practice,  I  think  it  almost  a 
crime  to  interrupt  you  longer  with  my  din  at  present.  Fare- 
well. 

Cambridge,  July  2,  1628. 


To  Thomas  Young.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  IV.) 

.  .  .  Having  been  invited  to  your  part  of  the  country,  as 
soon  as  spring  is  a  little  advanced,  I  will  gladly  come,  to  enjoy 
the  delights  of  the  season,  and  not  less  of  your  conversation, 
and  will  withdraw  myself  from  the  din  of  town  for  a  while  to 
your  Stoa  of  the  Iceni,  as  to  that  most  celebrated  Porch 
of  Zeno  or  the  Tusculan  Villa  of  Cicero,  where  you,  with 
moderate  means  but  regal  spirit,like  some  Serranus  or  Curius, 
placidly  reign  in  your  little  farm,  and,  contemning  fortune, 
hold,  as  it  were,  a  triumph  over  riches,  ambition,  pomp,  lux- 
ury, and  whatever  the  herd  of  men  admire  and  are  marked 
by 

Cambridge,  July  21,  1628. 

To  Charles  Diodati, 

making  a  stay  in  the  country,  who,  having  written  to  the  author 
on  the  13th  of  December,  and  asked  him  to  excuse  his  verses, 
if  they  were  less  good  than  usual,  on  the  ground  that,  in  the 
midst  of  the  festivities  with  which  he  had  been  received  by 
his  friends,  he  was  unable  to  give  a  sufficiently  prosperous 
attention  to  the  Muses,  had  the  following  reply : 

.  .  .  You  seem  to  be  enjoying  yourself  rarely.  How  well 
you  describe  the  feasts,  and  the  merry  December  and  prepa- 
rations for  Christmas,  and  the  cups  of  French  wine  round  the 
gay  hearth  !  Why  do  you  complain  that  poesy  is  absent  from 
these  festivities?     Festivity  and  poetry  are  surely  not  incom- 


32  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

patible.  .  .  .  One  sees  the  triple  influence  of  Bacchus,  Apollo, 
and  Ceres,  in  the  verses  you  have  sent  me.  And,  then,  have 
you  not  music  —  the  harp  lightly  touched  by  nimble  hands, 
and  the  lute  giving  time  to  the  fair  ones  as  they  dance  in  the 
old  tapestried  room  ?  Believe  me,  where  the  ivory  keys  leap, 
and  the  accompanying  dance  goes  round  the  perfumed  hall, 
there  will  the  Song-god  be.  But  let  me  not  go  too  far.  Light 
Elegy  is  the  care  of  many  gods,  and  calls  any  one  of  them  by 
turns  to  her  assistance  —  Bacchus,  Erato,  Ceres,  Venus,  and 
little  Cupid  besides.  To  poets  of  this  order,  therefore,  con- 
viviality is  allowable ;  and  they  may  often  indulge  in  draughts 
of  good  old  wine.  But  the  man  who  speaks  of  high  maJiszsL — 
the  heaven  of  th'  fidbgKZUUL-favt,  and  pious  heroes \  and  demi- 
god leaders  of  mevi  th^  man  tvfr?  now  sings  the  holv  counsels     \ 

of  the  gods  qhm)/'i   and  nmpi   the  xuhtrrranpan   realm*   guarded  \ 

by  the  fierce  dog — let  him  live  sparely,  after  the  manner  of  the 
Samian  master ;  let  herbs  afford  him  his  innocent  diet,  let  clear 
water  in  a  beechen  cup  stand  near  him,  and  let  him  drink  sober 
draughts  from  a  pure  fountain  /  To  this  be  there  added  a  youth 
chaste  and  free  from  guilt,  and  rigid  morals,  and  hands  without 
stain.  Being  such,  thou  shall  rise  up,  glittering  in  sacred  rai- 
ment and  purified  by  lustral  waters,  an  augur  about  to  go  into 
the  presence  of  the  unojf ended  gods.  So  is  wise  Tiresias  said 
to  have  lived,  after  he  had  been  deprived  of  his  sight ;  and 
Theban  Linus ;  and  Calchas  the  exile  ;  and  old  Orpheus.  So 
did  the  scantily-eating,  water-drinking  Homer  carry  his  hero 
Ulysses  through  the  monster-teeming  hall  of  Circe,  and  the 
straits  insidious  with  the  voices  of  the  Syrens,  and  through  thy 
courts,  too,  O  infernal  King,  where  he  is  said  to  have  held  the 
troops  of  shades  enthralled  by  libations  of  black  blood.  For 
the  poet  is  sacred  and  the  priest  of  the  gods ;  and  his  breast 
and  his  mouth  breathe  the  indwelling  Jove. 

And  now,  if  you  will  know  what  I  am  myself  doing  (if  indeed 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  33 

you  think  it  is  of  so  much  consequence  to  know  if  I  am  doing 
anything),  here  is  the  fact :  we  are  engaged  in  singing  the 
heavenly  birth  of  the  King  of  Peace,  and  the  happy  age  prom- 
ised by  the  holy  books,  and  the  infant  cries  and  cradling  in 
a  manger  under  a  poor  roof  of  that  God  who  rules,  with  his 
Father,  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven,  and  the  sky  with  the  new- 
sprung  star  in  it,  and  the  ethereal  choirs  of  hymning  angels, 
and  the  gods  of  the  heathen  suddenly  fleeing  to  their  endan- 
gered fanes.  This  is  the  gift  which  we  have  presented  to 
Christ's  natal  day.  On  that  very  morning,  at  daybreak,  it  was 
first  conceived.  The  verses,  which  are  composed  in  the  ver- 
nacular, await  you  in  close  keeping;  you  shall  be  the  judge 
to  whom  I  shall  recite  them. 

Prolusiones  qucedam   Oratories 

Some  University  Latin  Oratorical  Exercises,  seven  in  number, 
first  published  in  1674,  the  year  of  Milton's  death,  along  with 
his  Familiar  Letters  (Epistolae  Familiares),  'as  a  make-weight 
to  counterbalance  the  paucity  of  the  Letters,'  have  an  auto- 
biographic value ;  but,  with  the  exception  of  a  small  bit,  space 
does  not  allow  the  admission  of  them  here.  ■  They  throw  light,' 
says  Masson,  'upon  Milton's  career  at  Cambridge.  They 
illustrate  the  extent  and  nature  of  his  reading,  his  habits  and 
tastes  as  a  student,  the  relation  in  which  he  stood  to  the  Uni- 
versity system  of  his  time,  and  to  the  new  intellectual  tendencies 
which  were  gradually  affecting  that  system.  They  also  settle 
in  the  most  conclusive  manner  the  fact  that  Milton  passed 
through  two  stages  in  his  career  at  the  University,  —  a  stage  of 
decided  unpopularity,  in  his  own  College  at  least,  which  lasted 
till  about  1628,  and  a  final  stage  of  triumph,  when  his  powers 
were  recognized.' 

Masson    characterizes   the    seventh    oratorical    exercise    as 


34  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

'one  of  the  finest  pieces  of  Latin  prose  ever  penned  by  an 
Englishman.' 

The  following  is  a  passage,  in  Masson's  close  translation, 
from  this  exercise,  which  exhibits  what  continued  to  be  Mil- 
ton's attitude  through  life  : 

'  I  regard  it,  my  hearers,  as  known  and  accepted  by  all,  that 
the  great  Maker  of  the  Universe,  when  he  had  constituted  all 
things  else  as  fleeting  and  corruptible,  did  mingle  up  with 
Man,  in  addition  to  that  of  him  which  is  mortal,  a  certain 
divine  breath,  as  it  were  part  of  Himself,  immortal,  indestructi- 
ble, free  from  death  and  extinction;  which,  after  it  had  so- 
journed purely  and  holily  for  some  time  in  the  earth  as  a 
heavenly  guest,  should  flutter  aloft  to  its  native  heaven,  and 
return  to  its  proper  home  and  fatherland :  accordingly,  that 
nothing  can  deservedly  be  taken  into  account  as  among  the 
causes  of  our  happiness  that  does  not  somehow  or  other  regard 
both  that  everlasting  life  and  this  civil  life  below? 

1  When  his  earlier  writings,'  says  Masson, '  are  compared  with 
those  of  his  coevals  at  the  University,  what  strikes  one  most, 
next  to  their  vastly  greater  merit  altogether,  is  their  more  ideal 
tone.  As,  more  than  any  of  them,  he  was  conscious  of  the 
os  magna  soniturum,  the  mouth  formed  for  great  utterances, 
so  all  that  he  does  utter  has  a  certain  character  and  form  of 
magnitude.' 

Milton's  Latin  poem,  'Ad  Patrem '  (To  Father),  was  occa- 
sioned, as  may  be  seen  in  the  poem,  by  an  expressed  dissatis- 
faction on  the  part  of  his  father  with  his  continued  devotion, 
after  leaving  the  University,  to  his  favorite  studies  and  the 
Muses,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  consideration  of  a  profession. 
He  had,  while  yet  at  the  University,  fully  decided  that  the 
Church,  for  which  he  was  destined  by  his  parents,  was  not  for 
him,  bowing,  as  it  was,  beneath  the  galling  'yoke  of  prelaty '; 
and  to  the  legal  profession  he  must  have  been  equally,  if  not 
more,  averse. 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  35 

Such  a  tribute  of  filial  affection  and  gratitude,  as  is  this  poem, 
certainly  overcame  all  objections  the  father  may  have  expressed 
in  regard  to  his  course  of  life  at  the  time. 

We  learn  from  this  poem,  which  was  no  doubt  composed 
soon  after  Milton's  final  return  to  his  father's  house  at  Horton, 
in  1632,  he  being  then  in  his  twenty-fourth  year,  that,  along 
with  the  Latin  and  the  Greek,  he  had  acquired,  and  by  his 
father's  advice,  a  knowledge  of  the  French,  Italian,  and  He- 
brew. We  also  learn  of  the  father's  musical  genius,  both  instru- 
mental and  vocal,  and  of  the  son's  lofty  estimate  of  the  power 
of  poesy.  He  ascribes  to  it  a  divine  nature  which  evidences 
man's  heavenly  origin,  and  bespeaks  him  illuminated  from 
above. 

I  give  the  translation  by  the  poet  Cowper,  which,  while 
being  somewhat  free,  is,  I  think,  altogether  the  best  and  most 
poetical  that  has  been  made.  That  by  Masson,  in  hexameters, 
is  closer  to  the  original,  but  has  in  it  a  dactylic  dance  which 
is  not  so  much  in  harmony  with  the  tone  of  the  original  as  is 
Cowper's  blank-verse  translation. 

To  Father 

Oh,  that  Pieria's  spring  would  thro'  my  breast 
Pour  its  inspiring  influence,  and  rush 
No  rill,  but  rather  an  o'erflowing  flood  ! 
That,  for  my  venerable  father's  sake, 
All  meaner  themes  renounced,  my  muse,  on  wings  5 

Of  duty  borne,  might  reach  a  loftier  strain. 
For  thee,  my  father  !  howsoe'er  it  please, 
She  frames  this  slender  work,  nor  know  I  aught 
That  may  thy  gifts  more  suitably  requite ; 
Though  to  requite  them  suitably  would  ask  10 

Returns  much  nobler,  and  surpassing  far 


36  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

The  meagre  stores  of  verbal  gratitude ; 

But,  such  as  I  possess,  I  send  thee  all. 

This  page  presents  thee  in  their  full  amount 

With  thy  son's  treasures,  and  the  sum  is  nought ;  15 

Nought,  save  the  riches  that  from  airy  dream 

In  secret  grottos  and  in  laurel  bowers 

I  have,  by  golden  Clio's  gift,  acquired. 

Verse  is  a  work  divine ;  despise  not  thou 
Verse,  therefore,  which  evinces  (nothing  more)  20 

Man's  heavenly  source,  and  which,  retaining  still 
Some  scintillations  of  Promethean  fire, 
Bespeaks  him  animated  from  above. 
The  gods  love  verse ;  the  infernal  Powers  themselves 
Confess  the  influence  of  verse,  which  stirs  25 

The  lowest  deep,  and  binds  in  triple  chains 
Of  adamant  both  Pluto  and  the  Shades. 
In  verse  the  Delphic  priestess,  and  the  pale 
Tremulous  Sibyl  make  the  future  known ; 
And  he  who  sacrifices,  on  the  shrine  30 

Hangs  verse,  both  when  he  smites  the  threatening  bull, 
And  when  he  spreads  his  reeking  entrails  wide 
To  scrutinize  the  Fates  enveloped  there. 
We,  too,  ourselves,  what  time  we  seek  again 
Our  native  skies,  and  one  eternal  now  35 

Shall  be  the  only  measure  of  our  being, 
Crowned  all  with  gold,  and  chaunting  to  the  lyre 
Harmonious  verse,  shall  range  the  courts  above, 
And  make  the  starry  firmament  resound ; 
And,  even  now,  the  fiery  spirit  pure  40 

That  wheels  yon  circling  orbs,  directs,  himself, 
Their  mazy  dance  with  melody  of  verse 
Unutterable,  immortal,  hearing  which 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  37 

Huge  Ophiuchus  holds  his  hiss  suppressed, 

Orion,  softened,  drops  his  ardent  blade,  45 

And  Atlas  stands  unconscious  of  his  load. 

Verse  graced  of  old  the  feasts  of  kings  ere  yet 

Luxurious  dainties,  destined  to  the  gulph 

Immense  of  gluttony,  were  known,  and  ere 

Lyaeus  deluged  yet  the  temperate  board.  50 

Then  sat  the  bard  a  customary  guest 

To  share  the  banquet,  and,  his  length  of  locks 

With  beechen  honours  bound,  proposed  in  verse 

The  characters  of  heroes,  and  their  deeds 

To  imitation,  sang  of  Chaos  old,  sword,  belt,  and  club ;  55 

Of  nature's  birth,  of  gods  that  crept  in  search 

Of  acorns  fallen,  and  of  the  thunder  bolt 

Not  yet  produced  from  Etna's  fiery  cave. 

And  what  avails,  at  last,  tune  without  voice, 

Devoid  of  matter  ?     Such  may  suit  perhaps  60 

The  rural  dance,  but  such  was  ne'er  the  song 

Of  Orpheus,  whom  the  streams  stood  still  to  hear 

And  the  oaks  followed.     Not  by  chords  alone 

Well  touched,  but  by  resistless  accents  more 

To  sympathetic  tears  the  ghosts  themselves  65 

He  moved ;  these  praises  to  his  verse  he  owes. 

Nor  thou  persist,  I  pray  thee,  still  to  slight 
The  sacred  Nine,  and  to  imagine  vain 
And  useless,  powers  by  whom  inspired  thyself 
Art  skilful  to  associate  verse  with  airs  70 

Harmonious,  and  to  give  the  human  voice 
A  thousand  modulations,  heir  by  right 
Indisputable  of  Arion's  fame. 
Now  say,  what  wonder  is  it  if  a  son 
Of  thine  delight  in  verse,  if  so  conjoined  75 


38  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

In  close  affinity,  we  sympathize 

In  social  arts  and  kindred  studies  sweet? 

Such  distribution  of  himself  to  us 

Was  Phoebus'  choice  ;  thou  hast  thy  gift  and  I 

Mine  also  ;  and  between  us  we  receive,  80 

Father  and  son,  the  whole  inspiring  god. 

No  !  howsoe'er  the  semblance  thou  assume 

Of  hate,  thou  hatest  not  the  gentle  Muse, 

My  Father  !  for  thou  never  bad'st  me  tread 

The  beaten  path  and  broad  that  leads  right  on  85 

To  opulence,  nor  didst  condemn  thy  son 

To  the  insipid  clamours  of  the  bar, 

To  laws  voluminous  and  ill  observed  j 

But,  wishing  to  enrich  me  more,  to  fill 

My  mind  with  treasure,  ledst  me  far  away  90 

From  city  din  to  deep  retreats,  to  banks 

And  streams  Aonian,  and,  with  free  consent, 

Didst  place  me  happy  at  Apollo's  side. 

I  speak  not  now,  on  more  important  themes 

Intent,  of  common  benefits  and  such  95 

As  nature  bids,  but  of  thy  larger  gifts, 

My  Father  !  who,  when  I  had  opened  once 

The  stores  of  Roman  rhetoric,  and  learned 

The  full-toned  language  of  the  eloquent  Greeks, 

Whose  lofty  music  graced  the  lips  of  Jove,  100 

Thyself  didst  counsel  me  to  add  the  flowers 

That  Gallia  boasts,  those,  too,  with  which  the  smooth 

Italian  his  degenerate  speech  adorns, 

That  witnesses  his  mixture  with  the  Goth ; 

And  Palestine's  prophetic  songs  divine.  105 

To  sum  the  whole,  whate'er  the  heaven  contains, 

The  earth  beneath  it,  and  the  air  between, 

The  rivers  and  the  restless  deep,  may  all 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  39 

Prove  intellectual  gain  to  me,  my  wish 

Concurring  with  thy  will ;  Science  herself,  1 10 

All  cloud  removed,  inclines  her  beauteous  head, 

And  offers  me  the  lip,  if,  dull  of  heart, 

I  shrink  not  and  decline  her  gracious  boon. 

Go  now  and  gather  dross,  ye  sordid  minds 
That  covet  it;  what  could  my  Father  more?  115 

What  more  could  Jove  himself,  unless  he  gave 
His  own  abode,  the  heaven,  in  which  he  reigns  ? 
More  eligible  gifts  than  these  were  not 
Apollo's  to  his  son,  had  they  been  safe, 
As  they  were  insecure,  who  made  the  boy  120 

The  world's  vice- luminary,  bade  him  rule 
The  radiant  chariot  of  the  day,  and  bind 
To  his  young  brows  his  own  all-dazzling  wreath. 
I,  therefore,  although  last  and  least,  my  place 
Among  the  learned  in  the  laurel  grove  125 

Will  hold,  and  where  the  conqueror's  ivy  twines, 
Henceforth  exempt  from  the  unlettered  throng 
Profane,  nor  even  to  be  seen  by  such. 
Away  then,  sleepless  Care,  Complaint  away, 
And  Envy,  with  thy  '  jealous  leer  malign  ! '  130 

Nor  let  the  monster  Calumny  shoot  forth 
Her  venomed  tongue  at  me.     Detested  foes  ! 
Ye  all  are  impotent  against  my  peace, 
For  I  am  privileged,  and  bear  my  breast 
Safe,  and  too  high  for  your  viperean  wound.  135 

But  thou,  my  Father  !  since  to  render  thanks 
Equivalent,  and  to  requite  by  deeds 
Thy  liberality,  exceeds  my  power, 
Suffice  it  that  I  thus  record  thy  gifts, 
And  bear  them  treasured  in  a  grateful  mind  !  140 


40  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Ye,  too,  the  favourite  pastime  of  my  youth, 

My  voluntary  numbers,  if  ye  dare 

To  hope  longevity,  and  to  survive 

Your  master's  funeral,  not  soon  absorbed 

In  the  oblivious  Lethaean  gulph  145 

Shall  to  futurity  perhaps  convey 

This  theme,  and  by  these  praises  of  my  sire 

Improve  the  Fathers  of  a  distant  age  ! 

An  English  letter  to  a  friend  {unknown),  who,  it  appears,  had 
been  calling  hi?n  to  account  for  his  apparent  indifference  as 
to  his  work  in  life 

This  letter  has  an  exceptional  autobiographic  value.  The 
sonnet,  which  is  inserted,  appears  to  have  been  independently 
written  some  time  before,  and  was  originally  published  in  1645, 
with  the  heading  '  On  his  having  arrived  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
three.' 

'  Sir,  —  Besides  that  in  sundry  respects  I  must  acknowledge 
me  to  profit  by  you  whenever  we  meet,  you  are  often  to  me, 
and  were  yesterday  especially,  as  a  good  watchman  to  ad- 
monish that  the  hours  of  the  night  pass  on  (for  so  I  call  my 
life,  as  yet  obscure  and  unserviceable  to  mankind),  and  that 
the  day  with  me  is  at  hand,  wherein  Christ  commands  all  to 
labor,  while  there  is  light.  Which,  because  I  am  persuaded 
you  do  to  no  other  purpose  than  out  of  a  true  desire  that  God 
should  be  honoured  in  every  one,  I  therefore  think  myself 
bound,  though  unasked,  to  give  you  an  account,  as  oft  as 
occasion  is,  of  this  my  tardy  moving,  according  to  the  precept 
of  my  conscience,  which  I  firmly  trust  is  not  without  God. 
Yet  now  I  will  not  strain  for  any  set  apology,  but  only  refer 
myself  to  what  my  mind  shall  have  at  any  time  to  declare 
herself  at  her  best  ease. 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  4 1 

But  if  you  think,  as  you  said,  that  too  much  love  of  learning 
is  in  fault,  and  that  I  have  given  up  myself  to  dream  away  my 
years  in  the  arms  of  studious  retirement,  like  Endymion  with 
the  moon,  as  the  tale  of  Latmus  goes,  yet  consider  that,  if  it 
were  no  more  but  the  mere  love  of  learning,  whether  it  pro- 
ceed from  a  principle  bad,  good,  or  natural,  it  could  not  have 
held  out  thus  long  against  so  strong  opposition  on  the  other 
side  of  every  kind.  For,  if  it  be  bad,  why  should  not  all  the 
fond  hopes  that  forward  youth  and  vanity  are  fledge  with, 
together  with  gain,  pride,  and  ambition,  call  me  forward 
more  powerfully  than  a  poor,  regardless,  and  unprofitable  sin 
of  curiosity  should  be  able  to  withhold  me ;  whereby  a  man 
cuts  himself  off  from  all  action,  and  becomes  the  most  help- 
less, pusillanimous,  and  unweaponed  creature  in  the  world, 
the  most  unfit  and  unable  to  do  that  which  all  mortals  most 
aspire  to,  either  to  be  useful  to  his  friends  or  to  offend  his 
enemies?  Or,  if  it  be  to  be  thought  a  natural  proneness, 
there  is  against  that  a  much  more  potent  inclination  inbred, 
which  about  this  time  of  a  man's  life  solicits  most  —  the  desire 
of  house  and  family  of  his  own ;  to  which  nothing  is  esteemed 
more  helpful  than  the  early  entering  into  credible  employ- 
ment, and  nothing  hindering  than  this  affected  solitariness. 
And,  though  this  were  enough,  yet  there  is  another  act,  if  not 
of  pure,  yet  of  refined  nature,  no  less  available  to  dissuade 
prolonged  obscurity  —  a  desire  of  honour  and  repute  and 
immortal  fame,  seated  in  the  breast  of  every  true  scholar; 
which  all  make  haste  to  by  the  readiest  ways  of  publishing 
and  divulging  conceived  merits  —  as  well  those  that  shall, 
as  those  that  never  shall,  obtain  it.  Nature,  therefore,  would 
presently  work  the  more  prevalent  way,  if  there  were  nothing 
but  this  inferior  bent  of  herself  to  restrain  her.  Lastly,  the 
love  of  learning,  as  it  is  the  pursuit  of  something  good,  it 
would  sooner  follow  the  more   excellent  and  supreme   good 


42  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

known  and  presented,  and  so  be  quickly  diverted  from  the 
empty  and  fantastic  chase  of  shadows  and  notions,  to  the 
solid  good  flowing  from  due  and  timely  obedience  to  that 
command  in  the  Gospel  set  out  by  the  terrible  feasing  of  him 
that  hid  the  talent. 

It  is  more  probable,  therefore,  that  not  the  endless  delight 
of  speculation,  but  this  very  consideration  of  that  great  com- 
mandment, does  not  press  forward,  as  soon  as  many  do,  to 
undergo,  but  keeps  off,  with  a  sacred  reverence  and  religious 
advisement  how  best  to  undergo,  not  taking  thought  of  being 
late,  so  it  give  advantage  to  be  more  fit;  for  those  that  were 
latest  lost  nothing  when  the  master  of  the  vineyard  came  to 
give  each  one  his  hire.  And  here  I  am  come  to  a  stream- 
head,  copious  enough  to  disburden  itself,  like  Nilus,  at  seven 
mouths  into  an  ocean.  But  then  I  should  also  run  into  a 
reciprocal  contradiction  of  ebbing  and  flowing  at  once,  and 
do  that  which  I  excuse  myself  for  not  doing  —  preach  and  not 
preach.  Yet,  that  you  may  see  that  I  am  something  suspicious 
of  myself,  and  do  take  notice  of  a  certain  belatedness  in  me, 
I  am  the  bolder  to  send  you  some  of  my  nightward  thoughts 
some  while  since,  because  they  come  in  not  altogether  unfitly, 
made  up  in  a  Petrarchian  stanza,  which  I  told  you  of: 

How  soon  hath  Time,  the  subtle  thief  of  youth, 

Stolen  on  his  wing  my  three-and-twentieth  year  ! 

My  hasting  days  fly  on  with  full  career ; 
But  my  late  spring  no  bud  or  blossom  shew'th. 
Perhaps  my  semblance  might  deceive  the  truth  5 

That  I  to  manhood  am  arrived  so  near ; 

And  inward  ripeness  doth  much  less  appear, 
That  some  more  timely-happy  spirits  indu'th. 
Yet  be  it  less  or  more,  or  soon  or  slow, 

It  shall  be  still  in  strictest  measure  even  10 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  43 

To  that  same  lot,  however  mean  or  high, 
Toward  which  Time  leads  me,  and  the  will  of  Heaven. 
All  is,  if  I  have  grace  to  use  it  so, 

As  ever  in  my  great  Task- Master's  eye. 

By  this  I  believe  you  may  well  repent  of  having  made 
mention  at  all  of  this  matter ;  for,  if  I  have  not  all  this  while 
won  you  to  this,  I  have  certainly  wearied  you  of  it.  This, 
therefore,  alone  may  be  a  sufficient  reason  for  me  to  keep  me 
as  I  am,  lest,  having  thus  tired  you  singly,  I  should  deal  worse 
with  a  whole  congregation  and  spoil  all  the  patience  of  a 
parish ;  for  I  myself  do  not  only  see  my  own  tediousness,  but 
now  grow  offended  with  it,  that  has  hindered  me  thus  long 
from  coming  to  the  last  and  best  period  of  my  letter,  and  that 
which  must  now  chiefly  work  my  pardon,  —  that  I  am 
Your  true  and  unfeigned  friend,  etc' 


To  Alexander  Gill,  Jr.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  V.) 

If  you  had  presented  to  me  a  gift  of  gold,  or  of  preciously 
embossed  vases,  or  whatever  of  that  sort  mortals  admire,  it 
were  certainly  to  my  shame  not  to  have  some  time  or  other 
made  you  a  remuneration  in  return,  as  far  as  my  faculties  might 
serve.  Your  gift  of  the  day  before  yesterday,  however,  having 
been  such  a  sprightly  and  elegant  set  of  Hendecasyllabics,  you 
have,  just  in  proportion  to  the  superiority  of  that  gift  to  any- 
thing in  the  form  of  gold,  made  us  the  more  anxious  to  find 
some  dainty  means  by  which  to  repay  the  kindness  of  so  pleas- 
ant a  favour.  We  had,  indeed,  at  hand  some  things  of  our  own 
of  this  same  kind,  but  such  as  I  could  nowise  deem  fit  to  be 
sent  in  contest  of  equality  of  gift  with  yours.  I  send,  therefore, 
what  is  not  exactly  mine,  but  belongs  also  to  the  truly  divine 
poet,  this  ode  of  whom,  only  last  week,  with  no  deliberate 


44  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

intention  certainly,  but  from  I  know  not  what  sudden  impulse 
*5  before  daybreak,  I  adapted,  almost  in  bed,  to  the  rule  of  Greek. 
i«i  heroic  ^verse  :  with  the  effect,  it  seems,  that,  relying  on  this 
coadjutor,  who  surpasses  you  no  less  in  his  subject  than  you 
surpass  me  in  art,  I  should  have  something  that  might  have  a 
resemblance  of  approach  to  a  balancing  of  accounts.  Should 
anything  meet  you  in  it  not  coming  up  to  your  usual  opinion 
of  our  productions,  understand  that,  since  I  left  your  school, 
this  is  the  first  and  only  thing  I  have  composed  in  Greek,  — 
employing  myself,  as  you  know,  more  willingly  in  Latin  and 
English  matters  ;  inasmuch  as  whoever  spends  study  and  pains 
in  this  age  on  Greek  composition  runs  a  risk  of  singing  mostly 
to  the  deaf.  .  .  . 

From  our  suburban  residence  (E  nostro  suburbano),  December  4,  1634. 

To  Charles  Diodati.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  VI.) 

Now  at  length  I  see  plainly  that  what  you  are  driving  at  is 
to  vanquish  me  sometimes  in  the  art  of  obstinate  silence ;  and, 
if  it  is  so,  bravo  !  have  that  little  glory  over  us,  for  behold  !  we 
write  first.  All  the  same,  if  ever  the  question  should  come  into 
contention  why  neither  has  written  to  the  other  for  so  long,  do 
not  think  but  that  I  shall  stand  by  many  degrees  the  more 
excused  of  the  two,  —  manifestly  so  indeed,  as  being  one  by 
nature  slow  and  lazy  to  write,  as  you  well  know ;  while  you,  on 
the  other  hand,  whether  by  nature  or  by  habit,  are  wont  with- 
out difficulty  to  be  drawn  into  epistolary  correspondence  of 
this  sort.  It  makes  also  for  my  favour  that  I  know  your 
method  of  studying  to  be  so  arranged  that  you  frequently  take 
breath  in  the  middle,  visit  your  friends,  write  much,  sometimes 
make  a  journey,  whereas  my  genius  is  such  that  no  delay,  no 
rest,  no  care  or  thought  almost  of  anything,  holds  me  aside 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  45 

until  I  reach  the  end  I  am  making  for,  and  round  off,  as  it 
were,  some  great  period  of  my  studies.  .  .  . 

London,  September  2,  1637. 


To  Charles  Diodati.     (Familiar  Letters,  No.  VII.) 

.  .  .  What  besides  God  has  resolved  concerning  me  I  know 
not,  but  this  at  least :  He  has  instilled  into  me,  if  into  any  one, 
a  vehement  love  of  the  beautiful.  Not  with  so  much  labour, 
as  the  fables  have  it,  is  Ceres  said  to  have  sought  her  daughter 
Proserpina  as  it  is  my  habit  day  and  night  to  seek  for  this  idea 
of  the  beautiful,  as  for  a  certain  image  of  supreme  beauty, 
through  all  the  forms  and  faces  of  things  (for  many  are  the 
shapes  of  things  divine),  and  to  follow  it  as  it  leads  me  on  by 
some  sure  traces  which  I  seem  to  recognize.  Hencejt  is  that,  .0^ 
when  any  one  scorns  what  the  vulgar  (opine^ffitheir  depraved 
estimation  of  things,  and  dares  to  feeiand  speak  and  be  that 
which  the  highest  wisdom  throughout  all  ages  has  taught  to  be 
best,  to  that  man  I  attach  myself  forthwith  by  a  kind  of  real 
necessity,  wherever  I  find  him.  If,  whether  by  nature  or  by 
my  fate,  I  am  so  circumstanced  that  by  no  effort  or  labour  of 
mine  can  I  myself  rise  to  such  an  honour  and  elevation,  yet 
that  I  should  always  worship  and  look  up  to  those  who  have 
-^attained  that  glory,  or  happily  aspire  to  it,  neither  gods  nor 
men,  I  reckon,  have  bidden  nay. 

But  now  I  know  you  wish  to  have  your  curiosity  satisfied. 
You  make  many  anxious  inquiries,  even  as  to  what  I  am  at 
present  thinking  of.  Hearken,  Theodotus,  but  let  it  be  in 
your  private  ear,  lest  I  blush ;  and  allow  me  for  a  little  to  use 
big  language  with  you.  You  ask  what  I  am  thinking  of?  So 
may  the  good  Deity  help  me,  of  immortality  !  And  what  am 
I  doing  ?     Growing  my  wings  and  meditating  flight ;   but  as 


46  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

yet  our  Pegasus  raises  himself  on  very  tender  pinions.     Let 
us  be  lowly  wise  ! 


I  have  by  continuous  reading  brought  down  the  affairs  of  the 
Greeks  as  far  as  the  time  when  they  ceased  to  be  Greeks.  I 
have  been  long  engaged  in  the  obscure  business  of  the  state 
of  Italians  under  the  Longobards,  the  Franks,  and  the  Ger- 
mans, down  to  the  time  when  liberty  was  granted  them  by 
Rodolph,  King  of  Germany :  from  that  period  it  will  be  better 
to  read  separately  what  each  City  did  by  its  own  wars.  .  .  . 

London,  September  23,  1637. 

To  Benedetto  Bonmattei  of  Florence.     (Familiar  Letters, 
No.  VIII.) 

...  I,  certainly,  who  have  not  wet  merely  the  tips  of  my 
lips  with  boththos^tongues,  but  have,  as  much  as  any,  to  the 
full  allowance  of  my  years,  drained  their  deeper  draughts,  can 
yet  sometimes  willingly  and  eagerly  go  for  a  feast  to  that  Dante 
of  yours,  and  to  Petrarch,  and  a  good  few  more ;  nor  has  Attic 
Athens  herself,  with  her  pellucid  Ilissus,  nor  that  old  Rome 
with  her  bank  of  the  Tiber,  been  able  so  to  hold  me  but  that 
I  love  often  to  visit  your  Arno  and  these  hills  of  Fsesule.  See 
now,  I  entreat,  whether  it  has  not  been  with  enough  of  provi- 
dential cause  that  /  have  been  given  to  you  for  these  few  days, 
as  your  latest  guest  from  the  ocean,  who  am  so  great  a  lover 
of  your  nation  that,  as  I  think,  there  is  no  other  more  so.  .  .  . 

Florence,  September  10,  1638. 


3 

MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY^  47 

Mansus  ^ v- 

/ 

Milton's  Latin  poem  addressed  to  MansoJ  Marquis  of  Villa, 
in  grateful  acknowledgment  of  the  distinguished  attention 
which  had  been  shown  him  by  the  aged  Marquis,  during  his 
stay  in  Naples,  contains  the  first  intimation  in  his  writings  of 
his  contemplating  an  epic  poem  to  be  based  on  the  legendary 
or  mythical  history  of  Britain,  with  King  Arthur  for  its  hero. 

The  following  is  Masson's  quite  literal  prose  translation  of 
yv.  70-100:    CX^^^~^3     o5*-*- 

.  .  .  '  Oh  that  my  lot  might  yield  me  such  a  friend,  one  who 
should  know  as  well  how  to  decorate  Apollo's  children,  if  per- 
chance I  shall  ever  call  back  into  verse  our  native  kings,  and 
Arthur  stirring  wars  even  under  the  earth  that  hides  him,  01 
speak  of  the  great-souled  heroes,  the  knights  of  the  uncon- 
quered  Table,  bound  in  confederate  brotherhood,  and  (Oh  may 
the  spirit  be  present  to  me  !)  break  the  Saxon  phalanxes 
under  the  British  Mars.  Then,  when,  having  measured  out 
the  period  of  a  not  silent  life,  and  full  of  years,  I  shall  leave 
the  dust  its  due,  he  would  stand  by  my  bed  with  wet  eyes ;  it 
would  be  enough  if  I  said  to  him  standing  by  "  Let  me  be  thy 
charge ; "  he  would  see  that  my  limbs,  slacked  in  livid  death, 
were  softly  laid  in  the  narrow  coffin  ;  perchance  he  would  bring 
out  from  the  marble  our  features,  wreathing  the  hair  either  with 
the  leaf  of  Paphian  myrtle  or  with  that  of  Parnassian  laurel ; 
but  I  should  repose  in  secure  peace.  Then,  too,  if  faith  is 
aught,  if  there  are  assured  rewards  of  the  good,  I  myself,  with- 
drawn into  the  ether  of  the  heaven-housed  gods,  whither  labour 
and  the  pure  mind  and  the  fire  of  virtue  carry  us,  shall  behold 
these  things  from  some  part  of  the  unseen  world,  as  far  as  the 
fates  allow,  and,  smiling  serene,  with  soul  entire,  shall  feel  my 
face  suffused  with  the  purple  light,  and  applaud  myself  the 
while  in  the  joy  of  ethereal  Olympus.' 


48  M/LTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

From  the  '  Areopagitica  :  a  speech  for  the  liberty  of  unlicensed 
printing.     To  the  Parliament  of  England ' 

And  lest  some  should  persuade  ye,  lords  and  commons,  that 
these  arguments  of  learned  men's  discouragement  at  this  your 
order  are  mere  flourishes,  and  not  real,  I  could  recount  what 
I  have  seen  and  heard  in  other  countries,  where  this  kind  of 
inquisition  tyrannizes ;  when  I  have  sat  among  their  learned 
men,  (for  that  honour  I  had,)  and  been  counted  happy  to  be 
born  in  such  a  place  of  philosophic  freedom,  as  they  supposed 
England  was,  while  themselves  did  nothing  but  bemoan  the  ser- 
vile condition  into  which  learning  amongst  them  was  brought ; 
that  this  was  it  which  had  damped  the  glory  of  Italian  wits ; 
that  nothing  had  been  there  written  now  these  many  years  but 
flattery  and  fustian.  There  it  was  that  I  found  and  visited  the 
famous  Galileo,  grown  old,  a  prisoner  to  the  Inquisition,  for 
thinking  in  astronomy  otherwise  than  the  Franciscan  and  Do- 
minican licensers  thought.  And  though  I  knew  that  England 
then  was  groaning  loudest  under  the  prelatical  yoke,  neverthe- 
less I  took  it  as  a  pledge  of  future  happiness,  that  other  nations 
were  so  persuaded  of  her  liberty. 

Yet  was  it  beyond  my  hope,  that  those  worthies  were  then 
breathing  in  her  air,  who  should  be  her  leaders  to  such  a  deliver- 
ance, as  shall  never  be  forgotten  by  any  revolution  of  time  that 
this  world  hath  to  finish.  When  that  was  once  begun,  it  was  as 
little  in  my  fear,  that  what  words  of  complaint  I  heard  among 
learned  men  of  other  parts  uttered  against  the  Inquisition,  the 
same  I  should  hear,  by  as  learned  men  at  home,  uttered  in 
time  of  parliament  against  an  order  of  licensing ;  and  that  so 
generally,  that  when  I  had  disclosed  myself  a  companion  of 
their  discontent,  I  might  say,  if  without  envy,  that  he  whom  an 
honest  qusestorship  had  endeared  to  the  Sicilians,  was  not  more 
by  them  importuned  against  Verres,  than  the  favourable  opinion 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  49 

which  I  had  among  many  who  honour  ye,  and  are  known  and 
respected  by  ye,  loaded  me  with  entreaties  and  persuasions,  that 
I  would  not  despair  to  lay  together  that  which  just  reason 
should  bring  into  my  mind,  towards  the  removal  of  an  unde- 
served thraldom  upon  learning. 


To  Lucas  Holstenius  in  the  Vatican  at  Rome.     {Familiar 
Letters,  No.  IX.) 

Although  I  both  can  and  often  do  remember  many  courteous 
and  most  friendly  acts  done  me  by  many  in  this  my  passage 
through  Italy,  yet,  for  so  brief  an  acquaintance,  I  do  not  know 
whether  I  can  justly  say  that  from  any  one  I  have  had  greater 
proofs  of  goodwill  than  those  which  have  come  to  me  from  you. 
For,  when  I  went  up  to  the  Vatican  for  the  purpose  of  meeting 
you,  though  a  total  stranger  to  you,  —  unless  perchance  anything 
had  been  previously  said  about  me  to  you  by  Alexander  Cheru- 
bini,  —  you  received  me  with  the  utmost  courtesy.  Admitted 
at  once  with  politeness  into  the  Museum,  I  was  allowed  to  be- 
hold the  superb  collection  of  books,  and  also  very  many  manu- 
script Greek  authors  set  forth  with  your  explanations,  —  some 
of  whom,  not  yet  seen  in  our  age,  seemed  now,  in  their  array, 
like  Virgil's 

penitus  convalle  virenti 
Inclusae  animae  superumque  ad  lumen  iturse,  (vi.  679) 

to  demand  the  active  hands  of  the  printer,  and  a  delivery  into 
the  world,  while  others,  already  edited  by  your  care,  are  eagerly 
received  everywhere  by  scholars  :  —  dismissed,  too,  richer  than 
I  came,  with  two  copies  of  one  of  these  last  presented  to  me 
by  yourself.  Then,  I  could  not  but  believe  that  it  was  in  con- 
sequence of  the  mention  you  made  of  me  to  the  most  excellent 
Cardinal  Francesco  Barberini  that,  when  he,  a  few  days  after, 


50  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

gave  that  public  musical  entertainment  with  truly  Roman  mag- 
nificence (aKpoaixa  illud  musicum  magnificentia  vere  Romana 
publice  exhiberet),  he  himself,  waiting  at  the  doors,  and  seek- 
ing me  out  in  so  great  a  crowd,  almost  seizing  me  by  the  hand, 
indeed,  admitted  me  within  in  a  truly  most  honourable  man- 
ner. Further,  when,  on  this  account,  I  went  to  pay  my  re- 
spects to  him  next  day,  you  again  were  the  person  that  both 
made  access  for  me  and  obtained  me  an  opportunity  of  leisurely 
conversation  with  him  —  an  opportunity  such  as,  with  so  great; 
a  man,  —  than  whom,  on  the  topmost  summit  of  dignity,  noth- 
ing more  kind,  nothing  more  courteous,  —  was  truly,  place  and 
time  considered,  too  ample  rather  than  too  sparing.  .  .  . 
Florence,  March  30,  1639. 

Epitaphium  Damonis 

The  '  Epitaphium  Damonis '  is  a  pastoral  elegy,  occasioned  by 
the  death  of  Charles  Diodati,  which  occurred  in  the  summer 
or  autumn  of  1638,  while  Milton  was  on  his  continental  tour, 
As  an  expression  of  the  poet's  grief  for  the  loss  of  his  boyhood's; 
and  early  manhood's  dearest,  most  intimate,  and  sympathetic, 
friend,  it  has  a  general  autobiographic  character ;  but  it  con- 
tains one  passage  (vv.  1 61-178),  having  a  special  interest  oi 
the  kind,  in  which  he  again  alludes  to  his  contemplated  epic 
poem,  to  be  based  on  the  legendary  history  of  Britain. 

The  following  is  Masson's  translation  of  the  Argument  and  of 
vv.  161-178  : 

'  Thyrsis  and  Damon,  shepherds  of  the  same  neighbourhood, 
following  the  same  pursuits,  were  friends  from  their  boyhood, 
in  the  highest  degree  of  mutual  attachment.  Thyrsis,  having 
set  out  to  travel  for  mental  improvement,  received  news  when 
abroad  of  Damon's  death.  Afterwards  at  length  returning,  and 
finding  the  matter  to  be  so,  he  deplores  himself  and  his  soli- 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  5  I 

tary  condition  in  the  following  poem.  Under  the  guise  of 
Damon,  however,  is  here  understood  Charles  Diodati,  tracing 
his  descent  on  the  father's  side  from  the  Tuscan  city  of  Lucca, 
but  otherwise  English  —  a  youth  remarkable,  while  he  lived, 
for  his  genius,  his  learning,  and  other  most  shining  virtues.' 

1  Go  unpastured,  my  lambs  :  your  master  now  heeds  not  your 

bleating. 
/  have  a  theme  of  the  Trojans  cruising  our  southern  headlands 
Shaping   to   song,   and    the   realm    of    Imogen,    daughter  of 

Pandras, 
Brennus    and    Arvirach,    dukes,    and    Bren's    bold    brother, 

Belinus ; 
Then  the  Armorican  settlers  under  the  laws  of  the  Britons, 
Ay,  and  the  womb  of  Igraine  fatally  pregnant  with  Arthur, 
Uther's  son,  whom  he  got  disguised  in  Gorlois'  likeness, 
All  by  Merlin's  craft.    Oh  then,  if  life  shall  be  spared  me, 
Thou  shalt  be  hung,  my  pipe,  far  off  on  some  brown  dying  pine 

tree, 
Much  forgotten  of  me ;  or  else  your  Latian  music 
Changed  for  the  British  war-screech!     What  then?     For  one 

to  do  all  things, 
One  to  hope  all  things,  fits  not !     Prize  sufficiently  ample 
Mine,  and  distinction  great  (unheard  of  ever  thereafter 
Though  I  should  be,  and  inglorious,  all  through  the  world  of  the 

stranger) , 
If  but  yellow-haired  Ouse  shall  read  me,  the  drinker  of  Alan, 
H umber,  which  whirls  as  it  flows,  and  Trent's  whole  valley  of 

orchards, 
Thames,  my  own   Thames,  above   all,   and   Tamar's   western 

waters, 
Tawny  with  ores,  and  where  the  white  waves  swinge  the  far 

Orkneys.' 


52  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

From  '  Of Reformation  in  England'' 

Oh,  sir,  I  do  now  feel  myself  inwrapped  on  the  sudden  into 
those  mazes  and  labyrinths  of  dreadful  and  hideous  thoughts, 
that  which  way  to  get  out,  or  which  way  to  end,  I  know  not, 
unless  I  turn  mine  eyes,  and  with  your  help  lift  up  my  hands 
to  that  eternal  and  propitious  Throne,  where  nothing  is  readier 
than  grace  and  refuge  to  the  distresses  of  mortal  suppliants  : 
and  it  were  a  shame  to  leave  these  serious  thoughts  less 
piously  than  the  heathen  were  wont  to  conclude  their  graver 
discourses. 

Thou,  therefore,  that  sittest  in  light  and  glory  unapproach- 
able, Parent  of  angels  and  men  !  next,  thee  I  implore,  om- 
nipotent King,  Redeemer  of  that  lost  remnant  whose  nature 
thou  didst  assume,  ineffable  and  everlasting  Love  !  and  thou, 
the  third  subsistence  of  divine  infinitude,  illumining  Spirit, 
the  joy  and  solace  of  created  things  !  one  Tripersonal  god- 
head !  look  upon  this  thy  poor  and  almost  spent  and  expiring 
church,  leave  her  not  thus  a  prey  to  these  importunate  wolves, 
that  wait  and  think  long  till  they  devour  thy  tender  flock ; 
these  wild  boars  that  have  broke  into  thy  vineyard,  and  left 
the  print  of  their  polluting  hoofs  on  the  souls  of  thy  servants. 
Oh  !  let  them  not  bring  about  their  damned  designs,  that  stand 
now  at  the  entrance  of  the  bottomless  pit,  expecting  the  watch- 
word to  open  and  let  out  those  dreadful  locusts  and  scorpions, 
to  reinvolve  us  in  that  pitchy  cloud  of  infernal  darkness,  where 
we  shall  never  more  see  the  sun  of  thy  truth  again,  never  hope 
for  the  cheerful  dawn,  never  more  hear  the  bird  of  morning 
sing.  Be  moved  with  pity  at  the  afflicted  state  of  this  our 
shaken  monarchy,  that  now  lies  labouring  under  her  throes, 
and  struggling  against  the  grudges  of  more  dreaded  calamities. 

O  thou,  that,  after  the  impetuous  rage  of  five  bloody  in- 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  53 

undations,  and  the  succeeding  sword  of  intestine  war,  soaking 
the  land  in  her  own  gore,  didst  pity  the  sad  and  ceaseless 
revolution  of  our  swift  and  thick-coming  sorrows;  when  we 
were  quite  breathless,  of  thy  free  grace  didst  motion  peace, 
and  terms  of  covenant  with  us;  and  having  first  well  nigh 
freed  us  from  antichristian  thraldom,  didst  build  up  this 
Britannic  empire  to  a  glorious  and  enviable  height,  with  all 
her  daughter-islands  about  her;  stay  us  in  this  felicity,  let 
not  the  obstinacy  of  our  half-obedience  and  will-worship 
bring  forth  that  viper  of  sedition,  that  for  these  fourscore 
years  hath  been  breeding  to  eat  through  the  entrails  of  our 
peace ;  but  let  her  cast  her  abortive  spawn  without  the  danger 
of  this  travailing  and  throbbing  kingdom  :  that  we  may  still 
remember  in  our  solemn  thanksgivings,  how  for  us,  the  north- 
ern ocean  even  to  the  frozen  Thule  was  scattered  with  the 
proud  shipwrecks  of  the  Spanish  armada,  and  the  very  maw  of 
hell  ransacked,  and  made  to  give  up  her  concealed  destruction, 
ere  she  could  vent  it  in  that  horrible  and  damned  blast. 

Oh  how  much  more  glorious  will  those  former  deliverances 
appear,  when  we  shall  know  them  not  only  to  have  saved  us 
from  greatest  miseries  past,  but  to  have  reserved  us  for  greatest 
happiness  to  come  !  Hitherto  thou  hast  but  freed  us,  and  that 
not  fully,  from  the  unjust  and  tyrannous  claim  of  thy  foes  ;  now 
unite  us  entirely,  and  appropriate  us  to  thyself,  tie  us  everlast- 
ingly in  willing  homage  to  the  prerogative  of  thy  eternal  throne. 

And  now  we  know,  O  thou  our  most  certain  hope  and  de- 
fence, that  thine  enemies  have  been  consulting  all  the  sorceries 
of  the  great  whore,  and  have  joined  their  plots  with  that  sad 
intelligencing  tyrant  that  mischiefs  the  world  with  his  mines  of 
Ophir,  and  lies  thirsting  to  revenge  his  naval  ruins  that  have 
larded  our  seas  :  but  let  them  all  take  counsel  together,  and  let 
it  come  to  nought ;  let  them  decree,  and  do  thou  cancel  it ;  let 
them  gather  themselves,  and  be  scattered ;  let  them  embattle 


54  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

themselves,  and  be  broken ;  let  them  embattle,  and  be  broken, 
for  thou  art  with  us.  l) 

Then,  amidst  the  hymns  and  hallelujahs  of  saints,  some  one* 
may  perhaps  be  heard  offering  at  high  strains  in  new  and  lofty 
measures,  to  sing  and  celebrate  thy  divine  mercies  and  marvellous 
judgments  in  this  land  throughout  all  ages ;  whereby  this  great 
and  warlike  nation,  instructed  and  inured  to  the  fervent  and 
continual  practice  of  truth  and  righteousness,  and  casting  far 
from  her  the  rags  of  her  old  vices,  may  press  on  hard  to  that 
high  and  happy  emulation  to  be  found  the  soberest,  wisest,  and 
most  Christian  people  at  that  day,  when  thou,  the  eternal  and 
shortly-expected  King,  shalt  open  the  clouds  to  judge  the  sev- 
eral kingdoms  of  the  world,  and  distributing  national  honours 
and  rewards  to  religious  and  just  commonwealths,  shalt  put  an 
end  to  all  earthly  tyrannies,  proclaiming  thy  universal  and  mild 
monarchy  through  heaven  and  earth  ;  where  they  undoubtedly, 
that  by  their  labours,  counsels,  and  prayers,  have  been  earnest 
for  the  common  good  of  religion  and  their  country,  shall  re- 
ceive above  the  inferior  orders  of  the  blessed,  the  regal  addi- 
tion of  principalities,  legions,  and  thrones  into  their  glorious 
titles,  and  in  supereminence  of  beatific  vision,  progressing  the 


dateless  and  irrevoluble  circle  of  eternity,  shall  clasp  insepara-     A 


ble  hands  with  joy  and  bliss,  in  overmeasure  for  ever. 


From  *  Animadversions  upon  the  Remonstrant's  Defence,'  etc. 

O  thou  the  ever-begotten  Light  and  perfect  Image  of  the 
Father  !  thou  hast  opened  our  difficult  and  sad  times,  and  given 
us  an  unexpected  breathing  after  our  long  oppressions  :  thou 
hast  done  justice  upon  those  that  tyrannized  over  us,  while 
some  men  wavered  and  admired  a  vain  shadow  of  wisdom  in  a 
tongue  nothing  slow  to  utter  guile,  though  thou  hast  taught  us 
to  admire  only  that  which  is  good,  and  to  count  that  only 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  55 

praiseworthy,  which  is  grounded  upon  thy  divine  precepts. 
Thou  hast  discovered  the  plots,  and  frustrated  the  hopes,  of 
all  the  wicked  in  the  land,  and  put  to  shame  the  persecutors 
of  thy  church  :  thou  hast  made  our  false  prophets  to  be  found 
a  lie  in  the  sight  of  all  the  people,  and  chased  them  with  sud- 
den confusion  and  amazement  before  the  redoubled  brightness 
of  thy  descending  cloud,  that  now  covers  thy  tabernacle.  Who 
is  there  that  cannot  trace  thee  now  in  thy  beamy  walk  through 
the  midst  of  thy  sanctuary,  amidst  those  golden  candlesticks, 
which  have  long  suffered  a  dimness  amongst  us  through  the 
violence  of  those  that  had  seized  them,  and  were  more  taken 
with  the  mention  of  their  gold  than  of  their  starry  light ;  teach- 
ing the  doctrine  of  Balaam,  to  cast  a  stumbling-block  before 
thy  servants,  commanding  them  to  eat  things  sacrificed  to  idols, 
and  forcing  them  to  fornication?  Come,  therefore,  O  thou 
that  hast  the  seven  stars  in  thy  right  hand,  appoint  thy  chosen 
priests  according  to  their  orders  and  courses  of  old,  to  minister 
before  thee,  and  duly  to  press  and  pour  out  the  consecrated 
oil  into  thy  holy  and  ever-burning  lamps.  Thou  has  sent  out 
the  spirit  of  prayer  upon  thy  servants  over  all  the  land  to  this 
effect,  and  stirred  up  their  vows  as  the  sound  of  many  waters 
about  thy  throne.  Every  one  can  say,  that  now  certainly  thou 
hast  visited  this  land,  and  hast  not  forgotten  the  utmost  corners 
of  the  earth,  in  a  time  when  men  had  thought  that  thou  wast 
gone  up  from  us  to  the  furthest  end  of  the  heavens,  and  hadst 
^left  to  do  marvellously  among  the  sons  of  these  last  ages.  .  Oh 
perfect  and  accomplish  thy  glorious  acts  !  for  men  may  leave 
their  works  unfinished,  but  thou  art  a  God,  thy  nature  is  per- 
fection :  shouldst  thou  bring  us  thus  far  onward  from  Egypt  to 
destroy  us  in  this  wilderness,  though  we  deserve,  yet  thy  great 
name -would  suffer  in  the  rejoicing  of  thine  enemies,  and  the 
deluded  hope  of  all  thy  servants.  When  thou  hast  settled 
peace  in  the  church,  and  righteous  judgment  in  the  kingdom, 


56  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

then  shall  all  thy  saints  address  their  voices  of  joy  and  triumph 
to  thee,  standing  on  the  shore  of  that  Red  Sea  into  which  our 
enemies  had  almost  driven  us.  And  he  that  now  for  haste 
snatches  up  a  plain  ungarnished  present  as  a  thank-offering  to 
thee,  which  could  not  be  deferred  in  regard  of  thy  so  many  late 
deliverances  wrought  for  us  one  upon  another,  may  then  perhaps 
take  up  a  harp,  and  sing  thee  an  elaborate  song  to  generations. 
In  that  day  it  shall  no  more  be  said  as  in  scorn,  this  or  that  was 
never  held  so  till  this  present  age,  when  men  have  better  learnt 
that  the  times  and  seasons  pass  along  under  thy  feet  to  go  and 
come  at  thy  bidding  :  and  as  thou  didst  dignify  our  fathers' 
days  with  many  revelations  above  all  the  foregoing  ages,  since 
thou  tookest  the  flesh ;  so  thou  canst  vouchsafe  to  us  (though 
unworthy)  as  large  a  portion  of  thy  Spirit  as  thou  pleasest :  for 
who  shall  prejudice  thy  all-governing  will?  seeing  the  power  of 
thy  grace  is  not  passed  away  with  the  primitive  times,  as  fond 
and  faithless  men  imagine,  but  thy  kingdom  is  now  at  hand, 
and  thou  standing  at  the  door.  Come  forth  out  of  thy  royal 
chambers,  O  Prince  of  all  the  kings  of  the  earth  !  put  on  the 
visible  robes  of  thy  imperial  majesty,  take  up  that  unlimited 
sceptre  which  thy  Almighty  Father  hath  bequeathed  thee  j  for 
now  the  voice  of  thy  bride  calls  thee,  and  all  creatures  sigh  to 
be  renewed.  ,, 

From  i  The  Reason  of  Church  Government  urged  against 
Prelaty ' 

For  me,  I  have  determined  to  lay  up  as  the  best  treasure  and 
^solace  of  a  good  old  age,  if  God  vouchsafe  it  me,  the  honest 
liberty  of  free  speech  from  my  youth,  where  I  shall  think  it 
available  in  so  dear  a  concernment  as  the  church's  good.  For 
if  I  be,  either  by  disposition  or  what  other  cause,  too  inquisi- 
tive, or  suspicious  of  myself  and  mine  own  doings,  who  can 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  57 

help  it?  But  this  I  foresee,  that  should  the  church  be  brought 
under  heavy  oppression,  and  God  have  given  me  ability  the 
while  to  reason  against  that  man  that  should  be  the  author  of 
so  foul  a  deed ;  or  should  she,  by  blessing  from  above  on  the 
industry  and  courage  of  faithful  men,  change  this  her  distracted 
estate  into  better  days,  without  the  least  furtherance  or  con- 
tribution of  those  few  talents,  which  God  at  that  present  had 
lent  mej  I  foresee  what  stories  I  should  hear  within  myself,  all 
my  life  after,  of  discourage  and  reproach.  Timorous  and  un- 
grateful, the  church  of  God  is  now  again  at  the  foot  of  her 
insulting  enemies,  and  thou  bewailest.  What  matters  it  for 
thee,  or  thy  bewailing?  When  time  was,  thou  couldst  not  find 
a  syllable  of  all  that  thou  hast  read,  or  studied,  to  utter  in  her 
behalf.  Yet  ease  and  leisure  was  given  thee  for  thy  retired 
thoughts,  out  of  the  sweat  of  other  men.  Thou  hast  the  dili- 
gence, the  parts,  the  language  of  a  man,  if  a  vain  subject  were 
to  be  adorned  or  beautified ;  but  when  the  cause  of  God  and 
his  church  was  to  be  pleaded,  for  which  purpose  that  tongue 
was  given  thee  which  thou  hast,  God  listened  if  he  could  hear 
thy  voice  among  his  zealous  servants,  but  thou  wert  dumb  as  a 
beast;  from  henceforward  be  that  which  thine  own  brutish 
silence  hath  made  thee.  Or  else  I  should  have  heard  on  the 
other  ear  :  Slothful,  and  ever  to  be  set  light  by,  the  church  hath 
now  overcome  her  late  distresses  after  the  unwearied  labours 
of  many  her  true  servants  that  stood  up  in  her  defence ;  thou 
also  wouldst  take  upon  thee  to  share  amongst  them  of  their 
joy  :  but  wherefore  thou?  Where  canst  thou  shew  any  word  or 
deed  of  thine  which  might  have  hastened  her  peace?  What- 
ever thou  dost  now  talk,  or  write,  or  look,  is  the  alms  of  other 
men's  active  prudence  and  zeal.  Dare  not  now  to  say  or  do 
anything  better  than  thy  former  sloth  and  infancy ;  or  if  thou 
darest,  thou  dost  impudently  to  make  a  thrifty  purchase  of 
boldness  to  thyself,  out  of  the  painful  merits  of  other  men ; 


58  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

what  before  was  thy  sin  is  now  thy  duty,  to  be  abject  and 
worthless.  These,  and  such-like  lessons  as  these,  I  know 
would  have  been  my  matins  duly,  and  my  even-song.  But  now 
by  this  little  diligence,  mark  what  a  privilege  I  have  gained 
with  good  men  and  saints,  to  claim  my  right  of  lamenting  the 
tribulations  of  the  church,  if  she  should  suffer,  when  others, 
that  have  ventured  nothing  for  her  sake,  have  not  the  honour 
to  be  admitted  mourners.  But  if  she  lift  up  her  drooping  head 
and  prosper,  among  those  that  have  something  more  than 
wished  her  welfare,  I  have  my  charter  and  freehold  of  rejoic- 
ing to  me  and  my  heirs.  Concerning  therefore  this  wayward 
subject  against  prelaty,  the  touching  whereof  is  so  distasteful 
and  disquietous  to  a  number  of  men,  as  by  what  hath  been  said 
I  may  deserve  of  charitable  readers  to  be  credited,  that  neither 
envy  nor  gall  hath  entered  me  upon  this  controversy,  but  the 
enforcement  of  conscience  only,  and  a  preventive  fear  lest  the 
omitting  of  this  duty  should  be  against  me,  when  I  would  store 
up  to  myself  the  good  provision  of  peaceful  hours  :  so,  lest  it 
should  be  still  imputed  to  me,  as  I  have  found  it  hath  been, 
that  some  self-pleasing  humour  of  vain-glory  hath  incited  me 
to  contest  with  men  of  high  estimation,  now  while  green  years 
are  upon  my  head ;  from  this  needless  surmisal  I  shall  hope  to 
dissuade  the  intelligent  and  equal  auditor,  if  I  can  but  say  suc- 
cessfully that  which  in  this  exigent  behoves  me ;  although  I 
would  be  heard  only,  if  it  might  be,  by  the  elegant  and  learned 
reader,  to  whom  principally  for  a  while  I  shall  beg  leave  I  may 
address  myself.  To  him  it  will  be  no  new  thing,  though  I  tell 
him  that  if  I  hunted  after  praise,  by  the  ostentation  of  wit  and 
learning,  I  should  not  write  thus  out  of  mine  own  season  when 
I  have  neither  yet  completed  to  my  mind  the  full  circle  of  my 
private  studies,  although  I  complain  not  of  any  insufficiency  to 
the  matter  in  hand ;  or  were  I  ready  to  my  wishes,  it  were  a 
folly  to  commit  anything  elaborately  composed  to  the  careless 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  59 

and  interrupted  listening  of  these  tumultuous  times.  Next,  if 
I  were  wise  only  to  my  own  ends,  I  would  certainly  take 
such  a  subject  as  of  itself  might  catch  applause,  whereas 
this  hath  all  the  disadvantages  on  the  contrary,  and  such  a 
subject  as  the  publishing  whereof  might  be  delayed  at 
pleasure,  and  time  enough  to  pencil  it  over  with  all  the  curious 
touches  of  art,  even  to  the  perfection  of  a  faultless  picture ; 
whenas  in  this  argument  the  not  deferring  is  of  great  moment 
to  the  good  speeding,  that  if  solidity  have  leisure  to  do  her 
office,  art  cannot  have  much.  Lastly,  I  should  not  choose  this 
manner  of  writing,  wherein  knowing  myself  inferior  to  myself, 
led  by  the  genial  power  of  nature  to  another  task,  I  have  the 
use,  as  I  may  account,  but  of  my  left  hand.  And  though  I 
shall  be  foolish  in  saying  more  to  this  purpose,  yet,  since  it  will 
be  such  a  folly,  as  wisest  men  go  about  to  commit,  having  only 
confessed  and  so  committed,  I  may  trust  with  more  reason, 
because  with  more  folly,  to  have  courteous  pardon.  For 
although  a  poet,  soaring  in  the  high  reason  of  his  fancies,  with 
his  garland  and  singing  robes  about  him,  might,  without  apol- 
ogy, speak  more  of  himself  than  I  mean  to  do ;  yet  for  me  sit- 
ting here  below  in  the  cool  element  of  prose,  a  mortal  thing 
among  many  readers  of  no  empyreal  conceit,  to  venture  and 
divulge  unusual  things  of  myself,  I  shall  petition  to  the  gentler 
sort,  it  may  not  be  envy  to  me.  I  must  say,  therefore,  that 
after  I  had  for  my  first  years,  by  the  ceaseless  diligence  and 
care  of  my  father,  (whom  God  recompense  !)  been  exercised 
to  the  tongues,  and  some  sciences,  as  my  age  would  suffer,  by 
sundry  masters  and  teachers,  both  at  home  and  at  the  schools, 
it  was  found  that  whether  aught  was  imposed  me  by  them  that 
had  the  overlooking,  or  betaken  to  of  mine  own  choice  in  Eng- 
lish, or  other  tongue,  prosing  or  versing,  but  chiefly  by  this 
latter,  the  style,  by  certain  vital  signs  it  had,  was  likely  to  live. 
But  much  latelier  in  the  private  academies  of  Italy,  whither  I 


60  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

was  favoured  to  resort,  perceiving  that  some  trifles  which  I 
had  in  memory,  composed  at  under  twenty  or  thereabout,  (for 
the  manner  is,  that  every  one  must  give  some  proof  of  his  wit 
and  reading  there,)  met  with  acceptance  above  what  was 
looked  for;  and  other  things,  which  I  had  shifted  in  scarcity  of 
books  and  conveniences  to  patch  up  amongst  them,  were  re- 
ceived with  written  encomiums,  which  the  Italian  is  not  forward 
to  bestow  on  men  of  this  side  the  Alps ;  I  began  thus  far  to 
assent  both  to  them  and  divers  of  my  friends  here  at  home, 
and  not  less  to  an  inward  prompting  which  now  grew  daily 
upon  me,  that  by  labour  and  intense  study,  (which  I  take  to  be 
my  portion  in  this  life,)  joined  with  the  strong  propensity  of 
nature,  I  might  perhaps  leave  something  so  written  to  aftertimes, 
as  they  should  not  willingly  let  it  die.  These  thoughts  at  once 
possessed  me,  and  these  other  j  that  if  I  were  certain  to  write 
as  men  buy  leases,  for  three  lives  and  downward,  there  ought 
no  regard  be  sooner  had  than  to  God's  glory,  by  the  honour 
and  instruction  of  my  country.  For  which  cause,  and  not  only 
for  that  I  knew  it  would  be  hard  to  arrive  at  the  second  rank 
among  the  Latins,  I  applied  myself  to  that  resolution,  which 
Ariosto  followed  against  the  persuasions  of  Bembo,  to  fix  all  the 
industry  and  art  I  could  unite  to  the  adorning  of  my  native 
tongue ;  not  to  make  verbal  curiosities  the  end,  (that  were  a 
toilsome  vanity,)  but  to  be  an  interpreter  and  relater  of  the 
best  and  sagest  things  among  mine  own  citizens  throughout 
this  island  in  the  mother  dialect.  That  what  the  greatest  and 
choicest  wits  of  Athens,  Rome,  or  modern  Italy,  and  those 
Hebrews  of  old  did  for  their  country,  I,  in  my  proportion,  with 
this  over  and  above,  of  being  a  Christian,  might  do  for  mine ; 
not  caring  to  be  once  named  abroad,  tiiough  perhaps  I  could 
attain  to  that,  but  content  with  these  British  islands  as  my 
world ;  whose  fortune  hath  hitherto  been,  that  if  the  Athenians, 
as  some  say,  made  their  small  deeds  great  and  renowned  by 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  6 1 

their  eloquent  writers,  England  hath  had  her  noble  achieve- 
ments made  small  by  the  unskilful  handling  of  monks  and 
mechanics. 

Time  serves  not  now,  and  perhaps  I  might  seem  too  profuse 
to  give  any  certain  account  of  what  the  mind  at  home,  in  the 
spacious  circuits  of  her  musing,  hath  liberty  to  propose  to  her- 
self, though  of  highest  hope  and  hardest  attempting ;  whether 
that  epic  form  whereof  the  two  poems  of  Homer,  and  those 
other  two  of  Virgil  and  Tasso,  are  a  diffuse,  and  the  book  of 
Job  a  brief  model :  or  whether  the  rules  of  Aristotle  herein  are 
strictly  to  be  kept,  or  nature  to  be  followed,  which  in  them 
that  know  art,  and  use  judgment,  is  no  transgression,  but  an 
enriching  of  art :  and  lastly,  what  king  or  knight,  before  the 
conquest,  might  be  chosen  in  whom  to  lay  the  pattern  of  a 
Christian  hero.  And  as  Tasso  gave  to  a  prince  of  Italy  his 
choice  whether  he  would  command  him  to  write  of  Godfrey's 
expedition  against  the  Infidels,  or  Belisarius  against  the  Goths, 
or  Charlemagne  against  the  Lombards;  if  to  the  instinct  of 
nature  and  the  emboldening  of  art  aught  may  be  trusted,  and 
that  there  be  nothing  adverse  in  our  climate,  or  the  fate  of  this 
age,  it  haply  would  be  no  rashness,  from  an  equal  diligence 
and  inclination,  to  present  the  like  offer  in  our  own  ancient 
stories ;  or  whether  those  dramatic  constitutions,  wherein 
Sophocles  and  Euripides  reign,  shall  be  found  more  doctrinal 
and  exemplary  to  a  nation.  The  Scripture  also  affords  us  a 
divine  pastoral  drama  in  the  Song  of  Solomon,  consisting  of 
two  persons,  and  a  double  chorus,  as  Origen  rightly  judges. 
And  the  Apocalypse  of  St.  John  is  the  majestic  image  of  a  high 
and  stately  tragedy,  shutting  up  and  intermingling  her  solemn 
scenes  and  acts  with  a  sevenfold  chorus  of  hallelujahs  and  harp- 
ing symphonies :  and  this  my  opinion  the  grave  authority  of 
Pareus,  commenting  that  book,  is  sufficient  to  confirm.  Or  if 
occasion  shall  lead,  to  imitate  those  magnific  odes  and  hymns, 


62  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

wherein  Pindarus  and  Callimachus  are  in  most  things  worthy, 
some  others  in  their  frame  judicious,  in  their  matter  most  an 
end  faulty.  But  those  frequent  songs  throughout  the  law  and 
prophets  beyond  all  these,  not  in  their  divine  argument  alone, 
but  in  the  very  critical  art  of  composition,  may  be  easily  made 
appear  over  all  the  kinds  of  lyric  poesy  to  be  incomparable. 
These  abilities,  wheresoever  they  be  found,  are  the  inspired  gift 
of  God,  rarely  bestowed,  but  yet  to  some  (though  most  abuse) 
in  every  nation  ;  and  are  of  power,  beside  the  office  of  a  pulpit, 
to  imbreed  and  cherish  in  a  great  people  the  seeds  of  virtue 
and  public  civility,  to  allay  the  perturbations  of  the  mind,  and 
set  the  affections  in  right  tune ;  to  celebrate  in  glorious  and 
lofty  hymns  the  throne  and  equipage  of  God's  almightiness, 
and  what  he  works,  and  what  he  suffers  to  be  wrought  with 
high  providence  in  his  church ;  to  sing  victorious  agonies  of 
martyrs  and  saints,  the  deeds  and  triumphs  of  just  and  pious 
nations,  doing  valiantly  through  faith  against  the  enemies  of 
Christ ;  to  deplore  the  general  relapses  of  kingdoms  and  states 
from  justice  and  God's  true  worship.  Lastly,  whatsoever  in 
religion  is  holy  and  sublime,  in  virtue  amiable  or  grave,  whatso- 
ever hath  passion  or  admiration  in  all  the  changes  of  that  which 
is  called  fortune  from  without,  or  the  wily  subtleties  and  re- 
fluxes of  man's  thoughts  from  within  j  all  these  things  with  a 
solid  and  treatable  smoothness  to  paint  out  and  describe. 
Teaching  over  the  whole  book  of  sanctity  and  virtue,  through 
all  the  instances  of  example,  with  such  delight  to  those  espe- 
cially of  soft  and  delicious  temper,  who  will  not  so  much  as 
look  upon  truth  herself,  unless  they  see  her  elegantly  dressed ; 
that  whereas  the  paths  of  honesty  and  good  life  appear  now 
rugged  and  difficult,  though  they  be  indeed  easy  and  pleasant, 
they  will  then  appear  to  all  men  both  easy  and  pleasant,  though 
they  were  rugged  and  difficult  indeed.  And  what  a  benefit 
this  would  be  to  our  youth  and  gentry,  may  be  soon  guessed 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  63 

by  what  we  know  of  the  corruption  and  bane  which  they  suck 
in  daily  from  the  writings  and  interludes  of  libidinous  and  igno- 
rant poetasters,  who  having  scarce  ever  heard  of  that  which  is 
the  main  consistence  of  a  true  poem,  the  choice  of  such  persons 
as  they  ought  to  introduce,  and  what  is  moral  and  decent  to 
each  one;  do  for  the  most  part  lay  up  vicious  principles  in 
sweet  pills  to  be  swallowed  down,  and  make  the  taste  of  virtu- 
ous documents  harsh  and  sour.  But  because  the  spirit  of  man 
cannot  demean  itself  lively  in  this  body,  without  some  recreat- 
ing intermission  of  labour  and  serious  things,  it  were  happy  for 
the  commonwealth,  if  our  magistrates,  as  in  those  famous  gov- 
ernments of  old,  would  take  into  their  care,  not  only  the  decid- 
ing of  our  contentious  law-cases  and  brawls,  but  the  managing 
of  our  public  sports  and  festival  pastimes ;  that  they  might  be, 
not  such  as  were  authorized  a  while  since,  the  provocations  of 
drunkenness  and  lust,  but  such  as  may  inure  and  harden  our 
bodies  by  martial  exercises  to  all  warlike  skill  and  perform- 
ance ;  and  may  civilize,  adorn,  and  make  discreet  our  minds 
by  the  learned  and  affable  meeting  of  frequent  academies,  and 
the  procurement  of  wise  and  artful  recitations,  sweetened  with 
eloquent  and  graceful  enticements  to  the  love  and  practice  of 
justice,  temperance,  and  fortitude,  instructing  and  bettering 
the  nation  at  all  opportunities,  that  the  call  of  wisdom  and" 
virtue  may  be  heard  everywhere,  as  Solomon  saith :  '  She 
crieth  without,  she  uttereth  her  voice  in  the  streets,  in  the  top 
of  high  places,  in  the  chief  concourse,  and  in  the  openings  of 
the  gates.'  Whether  this  may  not  be,  not  only  in  pulpits,  but 
after  another  persuasive  method,  at  set  and  solemn  paneguries, 
in  theatres,  porches,  or  what  other  place  or  way  may  win  most 
upon  the  people  to  receive  at  once  both  recreation  and  instruc- 
tion, let  them  in  authority  consult.  The  thing  which  I  had 
to  say  and  those  intentions  which  have  lived  within  me  ever 
since  I  could  conceive  myself  anything  worth  to  my  country, 


64  MIL  TON'S  A  UTOBIOGRAPHY 

I  return  to  crave  excuse  that  urgent  reason  hath  plucked  from 
me,  by  an  abortive  and  foredated  discovery.  And  the  ac- 
complishment of  them  lies  not  but  in  a  power  above  man's  to 
promise ;  but  that  none  hath  by  more  studious  ways  endeav- 
oured, and  with  more  unwearied  spirit  that  none  shall,  that 
I  dare  almost  aver  of  myself,  as  far  as  life  and  free  leisure 
will  extend ;  and  that  the  land  had  once  enfranchised  herself 
from  this  impertinent  yoke  of  prelaty,  under  whose  inquisito- 
rious  and  tyrannical  duncery,  no  free  and  splendid  wit  can 
flourish.  Neither  do  I  think  it  shame  to  covenant  with  any 
knowing  reader,  that  for  some  years  yet  I  may  go  on 
trust  with  him  toward  the  payment  of  what  I  am  now  in- 
debted, as  being  a  work  not  to  be  raised  from  the  heat  of 
youth,  or  the  vapours  of  wine ;  like  that  which  flows  at  waste 
from  the  pen  of  some  vulgar  amourist,  or  the  trencher  fury  of 
a  rhyming  parasite ;  nor  to  be  obtained  by  the  invocation  of 
dame  Memory  and  her  Siren  daughters,  but  by  devout  prayer 
to  that  eternal  Spirit,  who  can  enrich  with  all  utterance  and 
knowledge,  and  sends  out  his  seraphim,  with  the  hallowed 
fire  of  his  altar,  to  touch  and  purify  the  lips  of  whom  he 
pleases  :  to  this  must  be  added  industrious  and  select  reading, 
steady  observation,  insight  into  all  seemly  and  generous  arts 
and  affairs ;  till  which  in  some  measure  be  compassed,  at 
mine  own  peril  and  cost,  I  refuse  not  to  sustain  this  expecta- 
tion from  as  many  as  are  not  loth  to  hazard  so  much  credulity 
upon  the  best  pledges  that  I  can  give  them.  Although  it  noth- 
ing content  me  to  have  disclosed  thus  much  beforehand, 
but  that  I  trust  hereby  to  make  it  manifest  with  what  small 
willingness  I  endure  to  interrupt  the  pursuit  of  no  less  hopes 
than  these,  and  leave  a  calm  and  pleasing  solitariness,  fed 
with  cheerful  and  confident  thoughts,  to  embark  in  a  troubled 
sea  of  noises  and  hoarse  disputes,  put  from  beholding  the 
bright  countenance  of  truth  in  the  quiet  and  still  air  of  delight- 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  65 

ful  studies,  to  come  into  the  dim  reflection  of  hollow  antiqui- 
ties sold  by  the  seeming  bulk,  and  there  be  fain  to  club 
quotations  with  men  whose  learning  and  belief  lies  in  marginal 
stuffings,  who,  when  they  have,  like  good  sumpters,  laid  ye 
down  their  horse-loads  of  citations  and  fathers  at  your  door, 
with  a  rhapsody  of  who  and  who  were  bishops  here  or  there, 
ye  may  take  off  their  packsaddles,  their  day's  work  is  done, 
and  episcopacy,  as  they  think,  stoutly  vindicated.  Let  any 
gentle  apprehension,  that  can  distinguish  learned  pains  from 
unlearned  drudgery  imagine  what  pleasure  or  profoundness 
can  be  in  this,  or  what  honour  to  deal  against  such  adversaries. 
But  were  it  the  meanest  under-service,  if  God  by  his  secre- 
tary conscience  enjoin  it,  it  were  sad  for  me  if  I  should  draw 
back ;  for  me  especially,  now  when  all  men  offer  their  aid  to 
help,  ease,  and  lighten  the  difficult  labours  of  the  church,  to 
whose  service,  by  the  intentions  of  my  parents  and  friends,  I 
was  destined  of  a  child,  and  in  mine  own  resolutions :  till 
coming  to  some  maturity  of  years,  and  perceiving  what  tyr- 
anny had  invaded  the  church,  that  he  who  would  take  orders 
must  subscribe  slave,  and  take  an  oath  withal,  which,  unless 
he  took  with  a  conscience  that  would  retch,  he  must  either 
straight  perjure,  or  split  his  faith;  I  thought  it  better  to  pre- 
fer a  blameless  silence  before  the  sacred  office  of  speaking, 
bought  and  begun  with  servitude  and  forswearing.  Howso- 
ever, thus  church-outed  by  the  prelates,  hence  may  appear  the 
right  I  have  to  meddle  in  these  matters,  as  before  the  necessity 
and  constraint  appeared.  q 

From  'Apology  for  Smectytnnuus ' 

If,  readers,  to  that  same  great  difficulty  of  well-doing  what 
we  certainly  know,  were  not  added  in  most  men  as  great  a 
carelessness  of  knowing  what  they  and  others  ought  to  do,  we 


66  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

had  been  long  ere  this,  no  doubt  but  all  of  us,  much  further 
on  our  way  to  some  degree  of  peace  and  happiness  in  this 
kingdom.  But  since  our  sinful  neglect  of  practising  that  which 
we  know  to  be  undoubtedly  true  and  good,  hath  brought  forth 
among  us,  through  God's  just  anger,  so  great  a  difficulty  now 
to  know  that  which  otherwise  might  be  soon  learnt,  and  hath 
divided  us  by  a  controversy  of  great  importance  indeed,  but 
of  no  hard  solution,  which  is  the  more  our  punishment ;  I  re- 
solved (of  what  small  moment  soever  I  might  be  thought)  to 
stand  on  that  side  where  I  saw  both  the  plain  authority  of 
scripture  leading,  and  the  reason  of  justice  and  equity  per- 
suading; with  this  opinion,  which  esteems  it  more  unlike  a 
Christian  to  be  a  cold  neuter  in  the  cause  of  the  church,  than 
the  law  of  Solon  made  it  punishable  after  a  sedition  in  the 
state. 

And  because  I  observe  that  fear  and  dull  disposition,  luke- 
warmness  and  sloth,  are  not  seldomer  wont  to  cloak  themselves 
under  the  affected  name  of  moderation,  than  true  and  lively 
zeal  is  customably  disparaged  with  the  term  of  indiscretion, 
bitterness,  and  choler ;  I  could  not  to  my  thinking  honour  a 
good  cause  more  from  the  heart,  than  by  defending  it  earnestly, 
as  oft  as  I  could  judge  it  to  behove  me,  notwithstanding  any 
false  name  that  could  be  invented  to  wrong  or  undervalue  an 
honest  meaning.  Wherein  although  I  have  not  doubted  to 
single  forth  more  than  once  such  of  them  as  were  thought  the 
chief  and  most  nominated  opposers  on  the  other  side,  whom 
no  man  else  undertook ;  if  I  have  done  well  either  to  be  con- 
fident of  the  truth,  whose  force  is  best  seen  against  the  ablest 
resistance,  or  to  be  jealous  and  tender  of  the  hurt  that  might 
be  done  among  the  weaker  by  the  entrapping  authority  of 
great  names  titled  to  false  opinions ;  or  that  it  be  lawful  to 
attribute  somewhat  to  gifts  of  God's  imparting,  which  I  boast 
not,  but  thankfully  acknowledge,  and  fear  also  lest  at  my  certain 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  6j 

account  they  be  reckoned  to  me  rather  many  than  few  ;  or  if 
lastly  it  be  but  justice  not  to  defraud  of  due  esteem  the  weari- 
some labours  and  studious  watchings,  wherein  I  have  spent 
and  tired  out  almost  a  whole  youth,  I  shall  not  distrust  to  be 
acquitted  of  presumption :  knowing,  that  if  heretofore  all 
ages  have  received  with  favour  and  good  acceptance  the 
early  industry  of  him  that  hath  been  hopeful,  it  were  but 
hard  measure  now  if  the  freedom  of  any  timely  spirit  should 
be  oppressed  merely  by  the  big  and  blunted  fame  of  his  elder 
adversary ;  and  that  his  sufficiency  must  be  now  sentenced,  not 
by  pondering  the  reason  he  shews,  but  by  calculating  the  years 
he  brings. 

However,  as  my  purpose  is  not,  nor  hath  been  formerly,  to 
look  on  my  adversary  abroad,  through  the  deceiving  glass  of 
other  men's  great  opinion  of  him,  but  at  home,  where  I  may 
find  him  in  the  proper  light  of  his  own  worth,  so  now  against 
the  rancour  of  an  evil  tongue,  from  which  I  never  thought  so 
absurdly,  as  that  I  of  all  men  should  be  exempt,  I  must  be 
forced  to  proceed  from  the  unfeigned  and  diligent  inquiry  of 
my  own  conscience  at  home,  (for  better  way  I  know  not,  read- 
ers,) to  give  a  more  true  account  of  myself  abroad  than  this 
modest  confuter,  as  he  calls  himself,  hath  given  of  me.  Albeit, 
that  in  doing  this  I  shall  be  sensible  of  two  things  which  to  me 
will  be  nothing  pleasant ;  the  one  is,  that  not  unlikely  I  shall 
be  thought  too  much  a  party  in  mine  own  cause,  and  therein  to 
see  least :  the  other,  that  I  shall  be  put  unwillingly  to  molest 
the  public  view  with  the  vindication  of  a  private  name ;  as  if 
it  were  worth  the  while  that  the  people  should  care  whether 
such  a  one  were  thus,  or  thus.  Yet  those  I  entreat  who  have 
found  the  leisure  to  read  that  name,  however  of  small  repute, 
unworthily  defamed,  would  be  so  good  and  so  patient  as  to  hear 
the  same  person  not  unneedfully  defended. 

I  will  not  deny  but  that  the  best  apology  against  false  ac- 


68  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

cusers  is  silence  and  sufferance,  and  honest  deeds  set  against 
dishonest  words.  And  that  I  could  at  this  time  most  easily  and 
securely,  with  the  least  loss  of  reputation,  use  no  other  defence, 
I  need  not  despair  to  win  belief;  whether  I  consider  both  the 
foolish  contriving  and  ridiculous  aiming  of  these  his  slanderous 
bolts,  shot  so  wide  of  any  suspicion  to  be  fastened  on  me,  that 
I  have  oft  with  inward  contentment  perceived  my  friends 
congratulating  themselves  in  my  innocence,  and  my  enemies 
ashamed  of  their  partner's  folly :  or  whether  I  look  at  these 
present  times,  wherein  most  men,  now  scarce  permitted  the 
liberty  to  think  over  their  own  concernments,  have  removed 
the  seat  of  their  thoughts  more  outward  to  the  expectation  of 
public  events :  or  whether  the  examples  of  men,  either  noble 
or  religious,  who  have  sat  down  lately  with  a  meek  silence 
and  sufferance  under  many  libellous  endorsements,  may  be 
a  rule  to  others,  I  might  well  appease  myself  to  put  up  any 
reproaches  in  such  an  honourable  society  of  fellow- sufferers, 
using  no  other  defence. 

And  were  it  that  slander  would  be  content  to  make  an  end 
where  it  first  fixes,  and  not  seek  to  cast  out  the  like  infamy 
upon  each  thing  that  hath  but  any  relation  to  the  person  tra- 
duced, I  should  have  pleaded  against  this  confuter  by  no  other 
advocates  than  those  which  I  first  commended,  silence  and 
sufferance,  and  speaking  deeds  against  faltering  words.  But 
when  I  discerned  his  intent  was  not  so  much  to  smite  at  me,  as 
through  me  to  render  odious  the  truth  which  I  had  written,  and 
to  stain  with  ignominy  that  evangelic  doctrine  which  opposes 
the  tradition  of  prelacy,  I  conceived  myself  to  be  now  not  as 
mine  own  person,  but  as  a  member  incorporate  into  that  truth 
whereof  I  was  persuaded,  and  whereof  I  had  declared  openly 
to  be  a  partaker.  Whereupon  I  thought  it  my  duty,  if  not  to 
myself,  yet  to  the  religious  cause  I  had  in  hand,  not  to  leave  on 
my  garment  the  least  spot  or  blemish  in  good  name,  so  long  as 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  69 

God  should  give  me  to  say  that  which  might  wipe  it  off;  lest 
those  disgraces  which  I  ought  to  suffer,  if  it  so  befall  me,  for 
my  religion,  through  my  default  religion  be  made  liable  to 
suffer  for  me.  And,  whether  it  might  not  something  reflect 
upon  those  reverent  men,  whose  friend  I  may  be  thought  in 
writing  the  Animadversions,  was  not  my  last  care  to  consider : 
if  I  should  rest  under  these  reproaches,  having  the  same  com- 
mon adversary  with  them,  it  might  be  counted  small  credit  for 
their  cause  to  have  found  such  an  assistant,  as  this  babbler 
hath  devised  me.  What  other  thing  in  his  book  there  is  of 
dispute  or  question,  in  answering  thereto  I  doubt  not  to  be  jus- 
tified ;  except  there  be  who  will  condemn  me  to  have  wasted 
time  in  throwing  down  that  which  could  not  keep  itself  up.  As 
for  others,  who  notwithstanding  what  I  can  allege  have  yet  de- 
creed to  misinterpret  the  intents  of  my  reply,  I  suppose  they 
would  have  found  as  many  causes  to  have  misconceived  the 
reasons  of  my  silence. 


Thus  having  spent  his  first  onset,  not  in  confuting,  but  in  a 
reasonless  defaming  of  the  book,  the  method  of  his  malice 
hurries  him  to  attempt  the  like  against  the  author  ;  not  by 
proofs  and  testimonies,  but  'having  no  certain  notice  of 
me,'  as  he  professes,  '  further  than  what  he  gathers  from  the 
Animadversions,'  blunders  at  me  for  the  rest,  and  flings  out 
stray  crimes  at  a  venture,  which  he  could  never,  though  he  be 
a  serpent,  suck  from  anything  that  I  have  written,  but  from  his 
own  stuffed  magazine  and  hoard  of  slanderous  inventions,  over 
and  above  that  which  he  converted  to  venom  in  the  drawing. 
To  me,  readers,  it  happens  as  a  singular  contentment ;  and  let 
it  be  to  good  men  no  light  satisfaction,  that  the  slanderer  here 
confesses  he  has  '  no  further  notice  of  me  than  his  own  con- 
jecture.'     Although    it    had    been    honest   to    have    inquired, 


yo  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

before  he  uttered  such  infamous  words,  and  I  am  credibly 
informed  he  did  inquire  j  but  finding  small  comfort  from  the 
intelligence  which  he  received,  whereon  to  ground  the  falsities 
which  he  had  provided,  thought  it  his  likeliest  course,  under  a 
pretended  ignorance,  to  let  drive  at  random,  lest  he  should 
lose  his  odd  ends,  which  from  some  penurious  book  of  charac- 
ters he  had  been  culling  out  and  would  fain  apply.  Not  caring 
to  burden  me  with  those  vices,  whereof,  among  whom  my  con- 
versation hath  been,  I  have  been  ever  least  suspected ;  perhaps 
not  without  some  subtlety  to  cast  me  into  envy,  by  bringing  on 
me  a  necessity  to  enter  into  mine  own  praises.  In  which  argu- 
ment I  know  every  wise  man  is  more  unwillingly  drawn  to 
speak,  than  the  most  repining  ear  can  be  averse  to  hear. 

Nevertheless,  since  I  dare  not  wish  to  pass  this  life  unper- 
secuted  of  slanderous  tongues,  for  God  hath  told  us  that  to 
be  generally  praised  is  woeful,  I  shall  rely  on  his  promise  to 
free  the  innocent  from  causeless  aspersions :  whereof  nothing 
sooner  can  assure  me,  than  if  I  shall  feel  him  now  assisting 
me  in  the  just  vindication  of  myself,  which  yet  I  could  defer, 
it  being  more  meet,  that  to  those  other  matters  of  public  de- 
bate ment  in  this  book  I  should  give  attendance  first,  but  that 
I  fear  it  would  but  harm  the  truth  for  me  to  reason  in  her  be- 
half, so  long  as  I  should  suffer  my  honest  estimation  to  lie 
unpurged  from  these  insolent  suspicions.  And  if  I  shall  be 
large,  or  unwonted  in  justifying  myself  to  those  who  know  me 
not,  for  else  it  would  be  needless,  let  them  consider  that  a  short 
slander  will  ofttimes  reach  further  than  a  long  apology ;  and 
that  he  who  will  do  justly  to  all  men,  must  begin  from  knowing 
how,  if  it  so  happen,  to  be  not  unjust  to  himself.  I  must  be 
thought,  if  this  libeller  (for  now  he  shows  himself  to  be  so)  can 
find  belief,  after  an  inordinate  and  riotous  youth  spent  at  the 
university,  to  have  been  at  length  '  vomited  out  thence.' 
For  which  commodious  lie,  that  he  may  be  encouraged  in  the 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  J I 

trade  another  time,  I  thank  him ;  for  it  hath  given  me  an  apt 
occasion  to  acknowledge  publicly  with  all  grateful  mind,  that 
more  than  ordinary  favour  and  respect,  which  I  found  above 
any  of  my  equals  at  the  hands  of  those  courteous  and  learned 
men,  the  fellows  of  that  college  wherein  I  spent  some  years  : 
who,  at  my  parting,  after  I  had  taken  two  degrees,  as  the  man- 
ner is,  signified  many  ways  how  much  better  it  would  content 
them  that  I  would  stay;  as  by  many  letters  full  of  kindness 
and  loving  respect,  both  before  that  time,  and  long  after,  I  was 
assured  of  their  singular  good  affection  towards  me.  Which 
being  likewise  propense  to  all  such  as  were  for  their  studious 
and  civil  life  worthy  of  esteem,  I  could  not  wrong  their  judg- 
ments and  upright  intentions,  so  much  as  to  think  I  had  that 
regard  from  them  for  other  cause,  than  that  I  might  be  still 
encouraged  to  proceed  in  the  honest  and  laudable  courses,  of 
which  they  apprehended  I  had  given  good  proof.  And  to  those 
ingenuous  and  friendly  men,  who  were  ever  the  countenancers 
of  virtuous  and  hopeful  wits,  I  wish  the  best  and  happiest 
thing  that  friends  in  absence  wish  one  to  another. 

As  for  the  common  approbation  or  dislike  of  that  place,  as 
now  it  is,  that  I  should  esteem  or  disesteem  myself,  or  any 
other  the  more  for  that,  too  simple  and  too  credulous  is  the 
confuter,  if  he  think  to  obtain  with  me,  or  any  right  discerner. 
Of  small  practice  were  that  physician,  who  could  not  judge  by 
what  both  she  and  her  sister  hath  of  long  time  vomited,  that 
the  worser  stuff  she  strongly  keeps  in  her  stomach,  but  the 
better  she  is  ever  kecking  at,  and  is  queasy.  She  vomits  now 
out  of  sickness  ;  but  ere  it  will  be  well  with  her,  she  must  vomit 
by  strong  physic.  In  the  meantime,  that  suburb  sink,  as  this 
rude  scavenger  calls  it,  and  more  than  scurrilously  taunts  it 
with  the  plague,  having  a  worse  plague  in  his  middle  entrail, 
that  suburb  wherein  I  dwell  shall  be  in  my  account  a  more 
honourable  place  than  his  university.     Which  as  in  the  time  of 


72  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

her  better  health,  and  mine  own  younger  judgment,  I  never 
greatly  admired,  so  now  much  less.  But  he  follows  me  to  the 
city,  still  usurping  and  forging  beyond  his  book  notice,  which 
only  he  affirms  to  have  had ;  '  and  where  my  morning  haunts 
are,  he  wisses  not.'  It  is  wonder  that,  being  so  rare  an  al- 
chymist  of  slander,  he  could  not  extract  that,  as  well  as  the 
university  vomit,  and  the  suburb  sink  which  his  art  could  distil 
so  cunningly ;  but  because  his  lembec  fails  him,  to  give  him 
and  envy  the  more  vexation,  I  will  tell  him. 

Those  morning  haunts  are  where  they  should  be,  at  home ; 
not  sleeping,  or  concocting  the  surfeits  of  an  irregular  feast, 
but  up  and  stirring,  in  winter  often  ere  the  sound  of  any  bell 
awake  men  to  labour  or  to  devotion ;  in  summer  as  oft  with 
the  bird  that  first  rouses,  or  not  much  tardier,  to  read  good 
authors,  or  cause  them  to  be  read,  till  the  attention  be  weary, 
or  memory  have  its  full  fraught :  then,  with  useful  and  gen- 
erous labours  preserving  the  body's  health  and  hardiness  to 
render  lightsome,  clear,  and  not  lumpish  obedience  to  the 
mind,  to  the  cause  of  religion,  and  our  country's  liberty,  when 
it  shall  require  firm  hearts  in  sound  bodies  to  stand  and  cover 
their  stations,  rather  than  to  see  the  ruin  of  our  protestation, 
and  the  inforcement  of  a  slavish  life. 

These  are  the  morning  practices  :  proceed  now  to  the  after- 
noon ;  'in  playhouses,'  he  says,  'and  the  bordelloes.'  Your 
intelligence,  unfaithful  spy  of  Canaan?  He  gives  in  his  evi- 
dence, that  '  there  he  hath  traced  me.'  Take  him  at  his 
word,  readers ;  but  let  him  bring  good  sureties  ere  ye  dismiss 
him,  that  while  he  pretended  to  dog  others,  he  did  not  turn 
in  for  his  own  pleasure  :  for  so  much  in  effect  he  concludes 
against  himself,  not  contented  to  be  caught  in  every  other 
gin,  but  he  must  be  such  a  novice  as  to  be  still  hampered  in 
his  own  hemp.  In  the  Animadversions,  saith  he,  I  find  the 
mention  of  old   cloaks,  false  beards,  night-walkers,  and   salt 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  73 

lotion;  therefore,  the  animadverter  haunts  playhouses  and 
bordelloes;  for  if  he  did  not,  how  could  he  speak  of  such 
gear?  Now  that  he  may  know  what  it  is  to  be  a  child,  and 
yet  to  meddle  with  edged  tools,  I  turn  his  antistrophon  upon 
his  own  head ;  the  confuter  knows  that  these  things  are  the 
furniture  of  playhouses  and  bordelloes,  therefore,  by  the  same 
reason, '  the  confuter  himself  hath  been  traced  in  those  places.' 
Was  it  such  a  dissolute  speech,  telling  of  some  politicians  who 
were  wont  to  eavesdrop  in  disguises,  to  say  they  were  often 
liable  to  a  night- walking  cudgeller,  or  the  emptying  of  a  urinal  ? 
What  if  I  had  writ,  as  your  friend  the  author  of  the  aforesaid 
mime,  '  Mundus  alter  et  idem,'  to  have  been  ravished  like 
some  young  Cephalus  or  Hylas,  by  a  troop  of  camping  house- 
wives in  Viraginea,  and  that  he  was  there  forced  to  swear  him- 
self an  uxorious  varlet;  then  after  a  long  servitude  to  have 
come  into  Aphrodisia,  that  pleasant  country,  that  gave  such 
a  sweet  smell  to  his  nostrils  among  the  shameless  courtezans 
of  Desvergonia?  Surely  he  would  have  then  concluded  me 
as  constant  at  the  bordello,  as  the  galley-slave  at  his  oar. 

But  since  there  is  such  necessity  to  the  hearsay  of  a  tire,  a 
periwig,  or  a  vizard,  that  plays  must  have  been  seen,  what 
difficulty  was  there  in  that  ?  when  in  the  colleges  so  many  of 
the  young  divines,  and  those  in  next  aptitude  to  divinity,  have 
been  seen  so  often  upon  the  stage,  writhing  and  unboning  their 
clergy  limbs  to  all  the  antic  and  dishonest  gestures  of  Trincu- 
loes,  buffoons,  and  bawds  j  prostituting  the  shame  of  that  min- 
istry, which  either  they  had,  or  were  nigh  having,  to  the  eyes 
of  courtiers  and  court  ladies,  with  their  grooms  and  mademoi- 
selles. There,  while  they  acted  and  overacted,  among  other 
young  scholars,  I  was  a  spectator;  they  thought  themselves 
gallant  men,  and  I  thought  them  fools ;  they  made  sport,  and 
I  laughed;  they  mispronounced,  and  I  misliked ;  and,  to 
make  up  the  Atticism,  they  were  out,  and  I  hissed.     Judge 


74  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

now  whether  so  many  good  textmen  were  not  sufficient  to 
instruct  me  of  false  beards  and  vizards,  without  more  exposi- 
tors; and  how  can  this  confuter  take  the  face  to  object  to 
me  the  seeing  of  that  which  his  reverend  prelates  allow,  and 
incite  their  young  disciples  to  act?  For  if  it  be  unlawful  to 
sit  and  behold  a  mercenary  comedian  personating  that  which 
is  least  unseemly  for  a  hireling  to  do,  how  much  more  blame- 
ful is  it  to  endure  the  sight  of  as  vile  things  acted  by  persons 
either  entered,  or  presently  to  enter,  into  the  ministry ;  and 
how  much  more  foul  and  ignominious  for  them  to  be  the 
actors  ! 

But  because  as  well  by  this  upbraiding  to  me  the  bordelloes, 
as  by  other  suspicious  glancings  in  his  book,  he  would  seem 
privily  to  point  me  out  to  his  readers,  as  one  whose  custom  of 
life  were  not  honest,  but  licentious,  I  shall  entreat  to  be  borne 
with,  though  I  digress ;  and  in  a  way  not  often  trod,  acquaint 
ye  with  the  sum  of  my  thoughts  in  this  matter,  through  the 
course  of  my  years  and  studies :  although  I  am  not  ignorant 
how  hazardous  it  will  be  to  do  this  under  the  nose  of  the  en- 
vious, as  it  were  in  skirmish  to  change  the  compact  order,  and 
instead  of  outward  actions,  to  bring  inmost  thoughts  into  front. 
And  I  must  tell  ye,  readers,  that  by  this  sort  of  men  I  have 
been  already  bitten  at ;  yet  shall  they  not  for  me  know  how 
slightly  they  are  esteemed,  unless  they  have  so  much  learning 
as  to  read  what  in  Greek  ajrapoKaXla  is,  which,  together 
with  envy,  is  the  common  disease  of  those  who  censure  books 
that  are  not  for  their  reading.  With  me  it  fares  now,  as  with 
him  whose  outward  garment  hath  been  injured  and  ill-be- 
dighted  j  for  having  no  other  shift,  what  help  but  to  turn  the 
inside  outwards,  especially  if  the  lining  be  of  the  same,  or,  as 
it  is  sometimes,  much  better?  So  if  my  name  and  outward  de- 
meanour be  not  evident  enough  to  defend  me,  I  must  make  trial 
if  the  discovery  of  my  inmost  thoughts  can :  wherein  of  two 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  75 

purposes,  both  honest  and  both  sincere,  the  one  perhaps  I 
shall  not  miss ;  although  I  fail  to  gain  belief  with  others,  of 
being  such  as  my  perpetual  thoughts  shall  here  disclose  me,  I 
may  yet  not  fail  of  success  in  persuading  some  to  be  such  really 
themselves,  as  they  cannot  believe  me  to  be  more  than  what  I 
feign. 

I  had  my  time,  readers,  as  others  have,  who  have  good 
learning  bestowed  upon  them,  to  be  sent  to  those  places  where, 
the  opinion  was,  it  might  be  soonest  attained ;  and  as  the 
manner  is,  was  not  unstudied  in  those  authors  which  are  most 
commended.  Whereof  some  were  grave  orators  and  historians, 
whose  matter  methought  I  loved  indeed,  but  as  my  age  then  was, 
so  I  understood  them ;  others  were  the  smooth  elegiac  poets, 
whereof  the  schools  are  not  scarce,  whom  both  for  the  pleasing 
sound  of  their  numerous  writing,  which  in  imitation  I  found 
most  easy,  and  most  agreeable  to  nature's  part  in  me,  and  for 
their  matter,  which  what  it  is,  there  be  few  who  know  not,  I 
was  so  allured  to  read,  that  no  recreation  came  to  me  better 
welcome.  For  that  it  was  then  those  years  with  me  which  are 
excused,  though  they  be  least  severe,  I  may  be  saved  the  la- 
bour to  remember  ye.  Whence  having  observed  them  to  ac- 
count it  the  chief  glory  of  their  wit,  in  that  they  were  ablest  to 
judge,  to  praise,  and  by  that  could  esteem  themselves  worthiest 
to  love  those  high  perfections,  which  under  one  or  other  name 
they  took  to  celebrate  ;  I  thought  with  myself  by  every  instinct 
and  presage  of  nature,  which  is  not  wont  to  be  false,  that  what 
emboldened  them  to  this  task,  might  with  such  diligence  as 
they  used  embolden  me  ;  and  that  what  judgment,  wit,  or  ele- 
gance was  my  share,  would  herein  best  appear,  and  best  value 
itself,  by  how  much  more  wisely,  and  with  more  love  of  virtue 
I  should  choose  (let  rude  ears  be  absent)  the  object  of  not  unlike 
praises.  For  albeit  these  thoughts  to  some  will  seem  virtuous 
and  commendable,  to  others  only  pardonable,  to  a  third  sort 


76  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

perhaps  idle ;  yet  the  mentioning  of  them  now  will  end  in 
serious. 

Nor  blame  it,  readers,  in  those  years  to  propose  to  them- 
selves such  a  reward,  as  the  noblest  dispositions  above  other 
things  in  this  life  have  sometimes  preferred  :  whereof  not  to  be 
sensible  when  good  and  fair  in  one  person  meet,  argues  both  a 
gross  and  shallow  judgment,  and  withal  an  ungentle  and  swainish 
breast.  For  by  the  firm  settling  of  these  persuasions,  I  became, 
to  my  best  memory,  so  much  a  proficient,  that  if  I  found  those 
authors  anywhere  speaking  unworthy  things  of  themselves,  or 
unchaste  of  those  names  which  before  they  had  extolled ; 
this  effect  it  wrought  with  me,  from  that  time  forward  their 
art  I  still  applauded,  but  the  men  I  deplored  j  and  above 
them  all,  preferred  the  two  famous  renowners  of  Beatrice  and 
Laura,  who  never  write  but  honour  of  them  to  whom  they 
devote  their  verse,  displaying  sublime  and  pure  thoughts, 
without  transgression.  And  long  it  was  not  after,  when  I  was 
confirmed  in  this  opinion,  that  he  who  would  not  be  frustrate 
of  his  hope  to  write  well  hereafter  in  laudable  things,  ought  him- 
self to  be  a  true  poem  ;  that  is,  a  composition  and  pattern  of  the 
best  and  honourablest  things  ;  not  presuming  to  sing  high  praises 
of  heroic  men,  or  famous  cities,  unless  he  have  in  himself  the 
experience  and  the  practice  of  all  that  which  is  praiseworthy. 
These  reasonings,  together  with  a  certain  niceness  of  nature, 
an  honest  haughtiness,  and  self-esteem  either  of  what  I  was,  or 
what  I  might  be,  (which  let  envy  call  pride,)  and  lastly  that 
modesty,  whereof,  though  not  in  the  title-page,  yet  here  I 
may  be  excused  to  make  some  beseeming  profession ;  all  these 
uniting  the  supply  of  their  natural  aid  together,  kept  me  still 
above  those  low  descents  of  mind,  beneatn  which  he  must  de- 
ject and  plunge  himself,  that  can  agree  to  saleable  and 
unlawful  prostitutions. 

Next,  (for  hear  me  out  now,  readers,)   that  I  may  tell  ye 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  7; 

whither  my  younger  feet  wandered  ;  I  betook  me  among  those 
lofty  fables  and  romances,  which  recount  in  solemn  cantos 
the  deeds  of  knighthood  founded  by  our  victorious  kings,  and 
from  hence  had  in  renown  over  all  Christendom.  There  I 
read  it  in  the  oath  of  every  knight,  that  he  should  defend  to 
the  expense  of  his  best  blood,  or  of  his  life,  if  it  so  befell  him, 
the  honour  and  chastity  of  virgin  or  matron;  from  whence 
even  then  I  learned  what  a  noble  virtue  chastity  sure  must  be, 
to  the  defence  of  which  so  many  worthies,  by  such  a  dear 
adventure  of  themselves,  had  sworn.  And  if  I  found  in  the 
story  afterward,  any  of  them,  by  word  or  deed,  breaking  that 
oath,  I  judged  it  the  same  fault  of  the  poet,  as  that  which  is 
attributed  to  Homer,  to  have  written  indecent  things  of  the 
gods.  Only  this  my  mind  gave  me,  that  every  free  and  gentle 
spirit,  without  that  oath,  ought  to  be  born  a  knight,  nor  needed 
to  expect  the  guilt  spur,  or  the  laying  of  a  sword  upon  his 
shoulder  to  stir  him  up  both  by  his  counsel  and  his  arms,  to 
secure  and  protect  the  weakness  of  any  attempted  chastity. 
So  that  even  these  books,  which  to  many  others  have  been 
the  fuel  of  wantonness  and  loose  living,  I  cannot  think  how, 
unless  by  divine  indulgence,  proved  to  me  so  many  incite- 
ments, as  you  have  heard,  to  the  love  and  steadfast  observa- 
tion of  that  virtue  which  abhors  the  society  of  bordelloes. 

Thus,  from  the  laureat  fraternity  of  poets,  riper  years  and 
the  ceaseless  round  of  study  and  reading  led  me  to  the  shady 
spaces  of  philosophy;  but  chiefly  to  the  divine  volumes  of 
Plato,  and  his  equal  Xenophon :  where,  if  I  should  tell  ye 
what  I  learnt  of  chastity  and  love,  I  mean  that  which  is  truly 
so,  whose  charming  cup  is  only  virtue,  which  she  bears  in  her 
hand  to  those  who  are  worthy;  (the  rest  are  cheated  with 
a  thick  intoxicating  potion,  which  a  certain  sorceress,  the 
abuser  of  love's  name,  carries  about ;)  and  how  the  first  and 
chiefest  office  of  love  begins  and  ends  in  the  soul,  producing 


78  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

those  happy  twins  of  her  divine  generation,  knowledge  and 
virtue.  With  such  abstracted  sublimities  as  these,  it  might  be 
worth  your  listening,  readers,  as  I  may  one  day  hope  to  have 
ye  in  a  still  time,  when  there  shall  be  no  chiding  f' not  in  these 
noises,  the  adversary,  as  ye  know,  barking  at  the  door,  or 
searching  for  me  at  the  bordelloes,  where  it  may  be  he  has 
lost  himself,  and  raps  up  without  pity  the  sage  and  rheumatic 
old  prelatess  with  all  her  young  Corinthian  laity,  to  inquire  for 
such  a  one. 

Last  of  all,  not  in  time,  but  as  perfection  is  last,  that  care 
was  ever  had  of  me,  with  my  earliest  capacity,  not  to  be 
negligently  trained  in  the  precepts  of  the  Christian  religion  : 
this  that  I  have  hitherto  related,  hath  been  to  show,  that 
though  Christianity  had  been  but  slightly  taught  me,  yet  a  cer- 
tain reservedness  of  natural  disposition,  and  moral  discipline, 
learnt  out  of  the  noblest  philosophy,  was  enough  to  keep  me 
in  disdain  of  far  less  incontinences  than  this  of  the  bordello. 
But  having  had  the  doctrine  of  holy  scripture  unfolding 
those  chaste  and  high  mysteries,  with  timeliest  care  infused, 
that l  the  body  is  for  the  Lord,  and  the  Lord  for  the  body ; ' 
thus  also  I  argued  to  myself,  that  if  unchastity  in  a  woman, 
whom  St.  Paul  terms  the  glory  of  man,  be  such  a  scandal  and 
dishonour,  then  certainly  in  a  man,  who  is  both  the  image  and 
glory  of  God,  it  must,  though  commonly  not  so  thought,  be 
much  more  deflouring  and  dishonourable ;  in  that  he  sins 
both  against  his  own  body,  which  is  the  perfecter  sex,  and 
his  own  glory,  which  is  in  the  woman;  and,  that  which  is 
worst,  against  the  image  and  glory  of  God,  which  is  in  him- 
self. Nor  did  I  slumber  over  that  place  expressing  such  high 
rewards  of  ever  accompanying  the  Lamb  with  those  celestial 
songs  to  others  inapprehensible,  but  not  to  those  who  were 
not  defiled  with  women,  which  doubtless  means  fornication ; 
for  marriage  must  not  be  called  a  defilement. 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  79 

Thus  large  I  have  purposely  been,  that  if  I  have  been  justly 
taxed  with  this  crime,  it  may  come  upon  me,  after  all  this  my 
confession,  with  a  tenfold  shame :  but  if  I  have  hitherto  de- 
served no  such  opprobious  word,  or  suspicion,  I  may  hereby 
engage  myself  now  openly  to  the  faithful  observation  of  what 
I  have  professed. 


I  had  said,  that  because  the  Remonstrant  was  so  much 
offended  with  those  who  were  tart  against  the  prelates,  sure 
he  loved  toothless  satires,  which  I  took  were  as  improper  as  a 
toothed  sleekstone.  This  champion  from  behind  the  arras  cries 
out,  that  those  toothless  satires  were  of  the  Remonstrant's  mak- 
ing ;  and  arms  himself  here  tooth  and  nail,  and  horn,  to  boot, 
to  supply  the  want  of  teeth,  or  rather  of  gums  in  the  satires ; 
and  for  an  onset  tells  me,  that  the  simile  of  a  sleekstone  '  shows 
I  can  be  as  bold  with  a  prelate  as  familiar  with  a  laundress.' 
But  does  it  not  argue  rather  the  lascivious  promptness  of 
his  own  fancy,  who,  from  the  harmless  mention  of  a  sleek- 
stone, could  neigh  out  the  remembrance  of  his  old  con- 
versation among  the  viragian  trollops?  For  me,  if  he  move 
me,  I  shall  claim  his  own  oath,  the  oath  ex  officio,  against 
any  priest  or  prelate  in  the  kingdom,  to  have  ever  as  much 
hated  such  pranks  as  the  best  and  chastest  of  them  all. 
That  exception  which  I  made  against  toothless  satires,  the 
confuter  hopes  I  had  from  the  satirist,  but  is  far  deceived : 
neither  have  I  ever  read  the  hobbling  distich  which  he 
means. 

For  this  good  hap  I  had  from  a  careful  education,  to  be 
inured  and  seasoned  betimes  with  the  best  and  elegantest 
authors  of  the  learned  tongues,  and  thereto  brought  an  ear 
that  could  measure  a  just  cadence,  and  scan  without  articulat- 
ing :   rather  nice  and  humorous  in  what  was  tolerable,  than 


80  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

patient  to  read  every  drawling  versifier.  Whence  lighting 
upon  this  title  of  '  toothless  satires/  I  will  not  conceal  ye 
what  I  thought,  readers,  that  sure  this  must  be  some  sucking 
satyr,  who  might  have  done  better  to  have  used  his  coral,  and 
made  an  end  of  teething,  ere  he  took  upon  him  to  wield  a 
satire's  whip.  But  when  I  heard  him  talk  of  '  scouring  the 
rusty  swords  of  elvish  knights,'  do  not  blame  me  if  I  changed 
my  thought,  and  concluded  him  some  desperate  cutler. 


But  now,  readers,  we  have  the  port  within  sight ;  his  last  sec- 
tion, which  is  no  deep  one,  remains  only  to  be  forded,  and  then 
the  wished  shore.  And  here  first  it  pleases  him  much,  that  he 
had  descried  me,  as  he  conceives,  to  be  unread  in  the  councils. 
Concerning  which  matter  it  will  not  be  unnecessary  to  shape 
him  this  answer :  that  some  years  I  had  spent  in  the  stories  of 
those  Greek  and  Roman  exploits,  wherein  I  found  many  things 
both  nobly  done,  and  worthily  spoken  :  when,  coming  in  the 
method  of  time  to  that  age  wherein  the  church  had  obtained  a 
Christian  emperor,  I  so  prepared  myself,  as  being  now  to  read 
examples  of  wisdom  and  goodness  among  those  who  were  fore- 
most in  the  church,  not  elsewhere  to  be  paralleled  j  but  to  the 
amazement  of  what  I  expected  I  found  it  all  quite  contrary : 
excepting  in  some  very  few,  nothing  but  ambition,  corruption, 
contention,  combustion ;  insomuch  that  I  could  not  but  love 
the  historian,  Socrates,  who,  in  the  proem  to  his  fifth  book 
professes,  '  he  was  fain  to  intermix  affairs  of  state ;  for  that  it 
would  be  else  an  extreme  annoyance  to  hear,  in  a  continued 
discourse,  the  endless  brabbles  and  counterplottings  of  the 
bishops.' 

Finding,  therefore,  the  most  of  their  actions  in  single  to  be 
weak,  and  yet  turbulent,  full  of  strife  and  yet  flat  of  spirit ;  and 
the  sum  of  their  best  council  there  collected,  to  be  most  com- 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  Si 

monly  in  questions  either  trivial  or  vain,  or  else  of  short  and 
easy  decision,  without  that  great  bustle  which  they  made ;  I 
concluded  that  if  their  single  ambition  and  ignorance  was  such, 
then  certainly  united  in  a  council  it  would  be  much  more ;  and 
if  the  compendious  recital  of  what  they  there  did  was  so  tedious 
and  unprofitable,  then  surely  to  set  out  the  whole  extent  of 
their  tattle  in  a  dozen  volumes  would  be  a  loss  of  time  irrecov- 
erable. Besides  that  which  I  had  read  of  St.  Martin,  who  for 
his  last  sixteen  years  could  never  be  persuaded  to  be  at  any 
council  of  the  bishops.  And  Gregory  Nazianzen  betook  him  to 
the  same  resolution,  affirming  to  Procopius,  '  that  of  any  coun- 
cil or  meeting  of  bishops  he  never  saw  good  end ;  nor  any 
remedy  thereby  of  evil  in  the  church,  but  rather  an  increase. 
For,'  saith  he,  '  their  contentions  and  desire  of  lording  no 
tongue  is  able  to  express.' 

I  have  not,  therefore,  I  confess,  read  more  of  the  councils, 
save  here  and  there ;  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  been  such  a 
prodigal  of  my  time ;  but,  that  which  is  better,  I  can  assure 
this  confuter,  I  have  read  into  them  all.  And  if  I  want  any- 
thing yet  I  shall  reply  something  toward  that  which  in  the 
defence  of  Murena  was  answered  by  Cicero  to  Sulpitius  the 
lawyer.  '  If  ye  provoke  me  (for  at  no  hand  else  will  I  under- 
take such  a  frivolous  labour)  I  will  in  three  months  be  an 
expert  councilist.'  For,  be  not  deceived,  readers,  by  men 
that  would  overawe  your  ears  with  big  names  and  huge  tomes 
that  contradict  and  repeal  one  another,  because  they  can  cram 
a  margin  with  citations.  Do  but  winnow  their  chaff  from  their 
wheat,  ye  shall  see  their  great  heap  shrink  and  wax  thin,  past 
belief. 


But  this  which  comes  next  in  view,  I  know  not  what  good 
vein  or  humour  took  him  when  he  let  drop  into  his  paper;  I 


82  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

that  was  erewhile  the  ignorant,  the  loiterer,  on  the  sudden  by 
his  permission  am  now  granted  '  to  know  something.'  And 
that '  such  a  volley  of  expressions '  he  hath  met  withal,  '  as  he 
would  never  desire  to  have  them  better  clothed.'  For  me, 
readers,  although  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  utterly  untrained  in 
those  rules  which  best  rhetoricians  have  given,  or  unacquainted 
with  those  examples  which  the  prime  authors  of  eloquence 
have  written  in  any  learned  tongue ;  yet  true  eloquence  I  find 
to  be  none,  but  the  serious  and  hearty  love  of  truth  :  and  that 
whose  mind  soever  is  fully  possessed  with  a  fervent  desire  to 
know  good  things,  and  with  the  dearest  charity  to  infuse  the 
knowledge  of  them  into  others,  when  such  a  man  would  speak, 
his  words,  (by  what  I  can  express,)  like  so  many  nimble  and 
airy  servitors,  trip  about  him  at  command,  and  in  well-ordered 
files,  as  he  would  wish,  fall  aptly  into  their  own  places. 


'ters. 


To   Carlo  Dati,  Nobleman  of  Florence.      {Familiar  Letter: 

No.  X.) 

When  I  came  upon  that  passage  where  you  write  that  you 
had  sent  me  three  letters  before,  which  I  now  know  to  have 
been  lost,  then,  in  the  first  place,  that  sincere  gladness  of  mine 
at  the  receipt  of  this  one  began  to  be  infected  and  troubled 
with  a  sad  regret,  and  presently  a  something  heavier  creeps  in 
upon  me,  to  which  I  am  accustomed  in  very  frequent  grievings 
over  my  own  lot :  the  sense,  namely,  that  those  whom  the 
mere  necessity  of  neighbourhood,  or  something  else  of  a  use- 
less kind,  has  closely  conjoined  with  me,  whether  by  accident 
or  by  the  tie  of  law  (sive  casu,  sive  lege,  conglutinavit),  they 
are  the  persons,  though  in  no  other  respect  commendable,  who 
sit  daily  in  my  company,  weary  me,  nay,  by  heaven,  all  but  plague 
me  to  death  whenever  they  are  jointly  in  the  humour  for  it, 
whereas  those  whom  habits,  disposition,  studies,  had  so  hand- 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  83 

somely  made  my  friends,  are  now  almost  all  denied  me  either  by 
death  or  by  most  unjust  separation  of  place,  and  are  so  for  the 
most  part  snatched  from  my  sight  that  I  have  to  live  well  nigh 
in  a  perpetual  solitude.  As  to  what  you  say  that  from  the  time 
of  my  departure  from  Florence  you  have  been  anxious  about 
my  health  and  always  mindful  of  me,  I  truly  congratulate  my- 
self that  a  feeling  has  been  equal  and  mutual  in  both  of  us,  the 
existence  of  which  on  my  side  only  I  was  perhaps  claiming  to 
my  credit.  Very  sad  to  me  also,  I  will  not  conceal  from  you, 
was  that  departure,  and  it  planted  stings  in  my  heart  which 
now  rankle  there  deeper,  as  often  as  I  think  with  myself  of  my 
reluctant  parting,  my  separation  as  by  a  wrench,  from  so  many 
companions  at  once,  such  good  friends  as  they  were,  and  living 
so  pleasantly  with  each  other  in  one  city,  far  off  indeed,  but  to 
me  most  dear.  I  call  to  witness  that  tomb  of  Damon,  ever  to 
be  sacred  and  solemn  to  me,  whose  adornment  with  every 
tribute  of  grief  was  my  weary  task,  till  I  betook  myself  at  length 
to  what  comforts  I  could,  and  desired  again  to  breathe  a  little 
—  I  call  that  sacred  grave  to  witness  that  I  have  had  no  greater 
delight  all  this  while  than  in  recalling  to  my  mind  the  most 
pleasant  memory  of  all  of  you,  and  of  yourself  especially. 
This  you  must  have  read  for  yourself  long  ere  now,  if  that  poem 
reached  you,  as  now  first  I  hear  from  you  it  did.  I  had  care- 
fully caused  it  to  be  sent,  in  order  that,  however  small  a  proof 
of  talent,  it  might,  even  in  those  few  lines  introduced  into  it 
emblem-wise,  be  no  obscure  proof  of  my  love  towards  you. 
My  idea  was  that  by  this  means  I  should  lure  either  yourself  or 
some  of  the  others  to  write  to  me ;  for,  if  I  wrote  first,  either  I 
had  to  write  to  all,  or  I  feared  that,  if  I  gave  the  preference  to 
any  one,  I  should  incur  the  reproach  of  such  others  as  came  to 
know  it,  hoping  as  I  do  that  very  many  are  yet  there  alive 
who  might  certainly  have  a  claim  to  this  attention  from  me. 
Now,  however,  you  first  of  all,  both  by  this  most  friendly  call 


84  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

of  your  letter,  and  by  your  thrice  repeated  attention  of  writing 
before,  have  freed  the  reply  for  which  I  have  been  somewhile 
since  in  your  debt  from  any  expostulation  from  the  others. 
There  was,  I  confess,  an  additional  cause  for  my  silence  in 
that  most  turbulent  state  of  our  Britain,  subsequent  to  my 
return  home,  which  obliged  me  to  divert  my  mind  shortly  after- 
wards from  the  prosecution  of  my  studies  to  the  defence  any- 
how of  life  and  fortune.  What  safe  retirement  for  literary 
leisure  could  you  suppose  given  one  among  so  many  battles  of 
a  civil  war,  slaughters,  flights,  seizures  of  goods  ?  Yet,  even  in 
the  midst  of  these  evils,  since  you  desire  to  be  informed  about 
my  studies,  know  that  we  have  published  not  a  few  things  in 
our  native  tongue ;  which,  were  they  not  written  in  English,  I 
would  willingly  send  to  you,  my  friends  in  Florence,  to  whose 
opinions,  I  attach  very  much  value.  The  part  of  the  Poems 
which  is  in  Latin  I  will  send  shortly,  since  you  wish  it ;  and  I 
would  have  done  so  spontaneously  long  ago,  but  that,  on 
account  of  the  rather  harsh  sayings  against  the  Pope  of  Rome 
in  some  of  the  pages,  I  had  a  suspicion  they  would  not  be  quite 
agreeable  to  your  ears.  Now  I  beg  of  you  that  the  indulgence 
you  were  wont,  to  give,  I  say  not  to  your  own  Dante  and 
Petrarch  in  the  same  case,  but  with  singular  politeness  to  my 
own  former  freedom  of  speech,  as  you  know,  among  you,  the 
same  you,  Dati,  will  obtain  (for  of  yourself,  I  am  sure)  from 
my  other  friends  whenever  I  may  be  speaking  of  your  religion 
in  our  peculiar  way. 
London,  April  si,  1647. 

On  his  Blindness 

When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent 

Ere  half  my  days  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 
And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide 


pp\ 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  85 

Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 

To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present  5 

My  true  account,  lest  He,  returning,  chide ; 

1  Doth  God  exact  day  labour,  light  denied? ' 
I  fondly yask.     But  Patience,  to  prevent 

That  murmur,  soon  replies,  '  God  doth  not  need 
Either  man's  work  or  his  own  gifts.     Who  best  10 

Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  Him  best.     His  state 

Is  kingly  :  thousands  at  his  bidding  speed, 

\A  nd  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest ; 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait.' 

To  the  most  distinguished  Leonard  Philaras,  of  Athens,  Am- 
bassador from  the  Duke  of  Parma  to  the  King  of  France. 
{Familiar  Letters,  No.  XII.) 

Your  good  will  toward  me,  most  honoured  Leonard  Philaras, 
as  well  as  your  high  opinion  of  our  Defence  for  the  Fnglish 
People,  I  learnt  from  your  letters,  written  partly  on  that  sub- 
ject, to  Mr.  Augier,  a  man  illustrious  among  us  for  his  remark- 
able fidelity  in  diplomatic  business  for  this  republic  :  after 
which  I  received,  through  the  same,  your  kind  greeting,  with 
your  portrait,  and  the  accompanying  eulogium,  certainly  most 
worthy  of  your  virtues,  —  and  then,  finally,  a  most  polite  letter 
from  yourself.  Be  assured  that  I,  who  am  not  in  the  habit  of 
despising  the  genius  of  the  Germans,  or  even  of  the  Danes  or 
Swedes,  cannot  but  value  very  much  such  an  opinion  of  me 
from,  you,  a  native  of  Attic  Athens,  who  have  besides,  after 
happily  finishing  a  course  of  literary  studies  among  the  Italians, 
reached  such  ample  honours  by  great  handling  of  affairs.  For, 
as  the  great  Alexander  himself,  when  carrying  on  war  in  the 
remotest  parts  of  the  earth,  declared  that  he  had  undergone 
such  great  labours  for  the  sake  of  the  good  opinion  of  the  A  the- 


86  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

nians,  why  should  not  I  congratulate  myself,  and  think  myself 
honoured  to  the  highest,  in  having  received  praises  from  one 
in  whom  singly  at  this  day  the  Arts  of  the  old  Athenians  and 
all  their  celebrated  excellencies  appear,  after  so  long  an  inter- 
val, to  revive  and  rebloom  ?  Remembering  how  many  men  of 
supreme  eloquence  were  produced  by  that  city,  I  have  pleasure 
in  confessing  that  whatever  literary  advance  I  have  made  I  owe 
chiefly  to  steady  intimacy  with  their  writings  from  my  youth 
upwards.  But,  were  there  in  me,  by  direct  gift  from  them,  or 
a  kind  of  transfusion,  such  a  power  of  pleading  that  I  could 
rouse  our  armies  and  fleets  for  the  deliverance  of  Greece,  the 
land  of  eloquence,  from  her  Ottoman  oppressor,  —  to  which 
mighty  act  you  seem  almost  to  implore  our  aid  —  truly  there 
is  nothing  which  it  would  be  more  or  sooner  in  my  desire  to 
do.  For  what  did  even  the  bravest  men  of  old,  or  the  most 
eloquent,  consider  more  glorious  or  more  worthy  of  them  than, 
whether  by  pleading  or  by  bravely  acting,  to  make  the  Greeks 
free  and  self-governing?  There  is,  however,  something  else 
besides  to  be  tried,  and  in  my  judgment  far  the  most  impor- 
tant :  namely,  that  some  one  should,  if  possible,  arouse  and 
rekindle  in  the  minds  of  the  Greeks,  by  the  relation  of  that 
old  story,  the  old  Greek  valour  itself,  the  old  industry,  the  old 
patience  of  labour.  Could  some  one  do  that — and  from  no 
one  more  than  yourself  ought  we  to  expect  it,  looking  to  the 
strength  of  your  feeling  for  your  native  land,  and  the  com- 
bination of  the  same  with  the  highest  prudence,  skill  in  mili- 
tary affairs,  and  a  powerful  passion  for  the  recovery  of  the 
ancient  political  liberty  —  then,  I  am  confident,  neither  would 
the  Greeks  be  wanting  to  themselves,  nor  any  other  nation 
wanting  to  the  Greeks.     Farewell. 

London,  June,  1652. 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  87 

To  Henry  Oldenburg,  agent  for  the  city  of  Bremen  in  Lower 
Saxony  with  the  Commonwealth.  {Familiar  Letters,  No.  XIV.) 

Your  former  letter,  Honoured  Sir,  was  given  to  me  when 
your  messenger,  I  was  told,  was  on  the  point  of  return  j 
whence  it  happened  that  there  was  no  opportunity  of  reply  at 
that  time.  While  I  was  afterwards  purposing  an  early  reply, 
some  unexpected  business  took  me  off;  but  for  which  I  should 
certainly  not  have  sent  you  my  book,  Defence  though  it  is 
called,  in  such  a  naked  condition,  without  accompanying  ex- 
cuse. And  now  I  have  your  second  letter,  in  which  your 
thanks  are  quite  disproportioned  to  the  slenderness  of  the  gift. 
It  was  in  my  mind,  too,  more  than  once,  to  send  you  back  Eng- 
lish for  your  Latin,  in  order  that,  as  you  have  learnt  to  speak 
our  language  more  accurately  and  happily  than  any  other 
foreigner  of  my  acquaintance,  you  should  not  lose  any  oppor- 
tunity of  writing  the  same ;  which  I  believe  you  could  do  with 
equal  accuracy.  But  in  this,  just  as  henceforward  the  impulse 
may  be,  let  your  own  choice  regulate.  As  to  the  substance  of 
your  communication,  you  plainly  think  with  me  that  a  '  Cry ' 
of  that  kind  'to  Heaven'  transcends  all  bounds  of  human 
sense ;  the  more  impudent,  then,  must  be  he  who  declares  so 
boldly  he  has  heard  it.  You  throw  in  a  scruple  after  all  as  to 
who  he  is  :  but,  formerly,  whenever  we  talked  on  this  subject, 
just  after  you  had  come  hither  from  Holland,  you  seemed  to 
have  no  doubt  whatever  but  Morus  was  the  author,  inasmuch 
as  that  was  the  common  report  in  those  parts  and  no  one  else 
was  named.  If,  then,  you  have  now  at  last  any  more  certain 
information  on  the  point,  be  so  good  as  to  inform  me.  As  to 
the  treatment  of  the  argument,  I  should  wish  (why  should  I 
dissemble?)  not  to  differ  from  you,  if  only  because  I  would 
fain  know  what  there  is  to  which  one  would  more  readily  yield 


88  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

than  the  sincere  judgment  of  friendly  men,  like  yourself,  and 
praise  free  from  all  flattery.  To  prepare  myself,  as  you  sug- 
gest, for  other  labours,  —  whether  nobler  or  more  useful  I  know 
not,  for  what  can  be  nobler  or  more  useful  in  human  affairs  than 
the  vindication  of  Liberty  ?  —  truly,  if  my  health  shall  permit, 
and  this  blindness  of  mine,  a  sorer  affliction  than  old  age,  and 
lastly  the  '  cries '  of  such  brawlers  as  there  have  been  about 
me,  I  shall  be  induced  to  that  easily  enough.  An  idle  ease  has 
never  had  charms  for  me,  and  this  unexpected  contest  with  the 
Adversaries  of  Liberty  took  me  off  against  my  will  when  I  was 
intent  on  far  different  and  altogether  pleasanter  studies  :  not 
that  in  any  way  I  repent  of  what  I  have  done,  since  it  was 
necessary  j  for  I  am  far  from  thinking  that  I  have  spent  any 
toil,  as  you  seem  to  hint,  on  matters  of  inferior  consequence. 
But  of  this  at  other  time :  meanwhile,  learned  Sir,  not  to  de- 
tain you  too  long,  farewell,  and  reckon  me  among  your  friends. 
Westminster,  July  6,  1654. 

To  Leonard  Philaras,  Athenian.    (Familiar  Letters,  No.  XV.) 

Though  from  boyhood  I  have  ever  been  devoted  to  all  things 
Greek,  and  especially  to  your  native  city,  Athens,  yet,  in  addi- 
tion to  this,  I  have  ever  cherished  the  conviction  that  some- 
time that  city  would  make  a  fair  return  to  me  for  my  devotion  ; 
and  in  very  truth  that  ancient  genius  of  your  most  glorious  land 
has  fulfilled  my  prophecy  j  for  it  has  given  me  you,  a  genuine 
son  of  Attica,  and  a  true  friend  of  mine  •  who,  though  I  was 
known  to  you  only  by  my  writings,  yet  addressed  me  most  kindly 
by  letter  when  separated  by  long  distance,  and  later,  coming  un- 
expectedly to  London,  visited  me  in  my  blindness,  and,  in  that 
misfortune  which  has  made  me  to  no  one  more  distinguished, 
to  many  less  so,  you  honour  me  still  with  the  same  kindness. 

Inasmuch  as  you  urge  me  not  to  abandon  all  hope  of  re- 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  89 

covering  my  sight,  and  write  that  you  have  at  Paris  a  friend 
and  relative  who  is  a  physician,  Thevenot  by  name,  a  man  of 
special  eminence  in  treating  eyes,  whom  you  propose  to  con- 
sult with  regard  to  mine,  if  you  only  learn  from  me  enough  to 
enable  him  to  understand  the  causes  and  symptoms  of  the  dis- 
ease ;  —  in  view  of  this  I  will  do  what  you  suggest,  in  order 
that  I  may  not  seem  to  reject  the  possibility  of  any  help  that 
may  come  from  God's  hand. 

It  is  now,  I  should  say,  ten  years,  more  or  less,  since  I  found 
my  sight  growing  dim  and  weak ;  at  the  same  time  my  spleen 
was  affected  and  my  internal  organs  were  troubled  with  flatu- 
lency ;  in  the  morning  whenever  I  began  to  read  anything  in 
accordance  with  my  usual  custom,  my  eyes  at  once  began  to 
pain  me  and  to  shrink  from  the  task,  though  they  would  ex- 
perience relief  after  a  brief  period  of  bodily  exercise ;  when- 
ever I  looked  at  a  lamp,  a  halo  would  seem  to  encircle  it. 
Not  long  after  this,  at  the  left  extremity  of  trie  left  eye  (for 
that  eye  lost  its  sight  some  years  before  the  other),  there 
gradually  came  on  a  dimness,  which  took  from  my  view  all 
objects  situated  on  that  side ;  objects  directly  in  front  of  it, 
too,  were  seen  less  clearly  whenever  I  happened  to  close  the 
right  eye.  During  the  last  three  years  the  other  eye  has 
gradually  lost  its  sight;  but  some  months  before  my  blind- 
ness became  complete,  everything  that  I  saw,  even  though  I 
was  perfectly  still,  seemed  to  swim  about,  moving  now  to  the 
right,  now  to  the  left.  My  forehead  and  temples  suffer  from 
constant  burning  sensations.  This  often  affects  my  eyes  with 
a  certain  drowsiness,  from  breakfast  till  evening ;  so  that  I  often 
think  of  the  words  of  Phineus  the  seer  of  Salmydessus,  in  the 
Argonautica  : 

Kapos  8e  fXLV  dix(p€K<xXvif/€v 
ILop<pvpeos  '   yaiav  8e  7repi£  eSoKrycre  (pcpecrOai 
vuodev,  a/3\r))(p<i>  8*  €7rt  Kiipn  k£k\it   avavSo?. 


QO  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

But  I  must  not  omit  to  say  that,  while  there  still  remained 
some  little  sense  of  sight,  whenever  I  lay  down  in  bed,  and 
reclined  on  either  side,  bright  lights  in  abundance  would  flash 
from  my  eyes  even  when  closed  j  subsequently,  as  my  power 
of  sight  grew  daily  less,  dull  colours  would  dart  forth  in  the 
same  way,  accompanied  with  throbbings  and  noises  within  my 
head.  But  now  the  brightness  seems  to  be  dispelled,  and,  at 
times,  absolute  blackness,  or  blackness  veined  with  an  ashy 
grayness,  as  it  were,  is  often  wont  to  spread  over  my  eyes.  Yet 
the  dimness  which  is  there,  both  night  and  day,  seems  always 
more  like  something  white  than  like  anything  black,  which,  as 
the  eye  turns,  allows  the  merest  particle  of  light  to  enter,  as 
through  a  tiny  crack.  But  even  though  from  this  circumstance 
the  physician  might  gather  some  little  hope,  yet  I  am  resigned 
as  to  an  absolutely  incurable  affliction ;  and  I  often  reflect  that, 
though  to  each  one  of  us  are  allotted  many  days  of  darkness, 
as  the  Wise  Man  reminds  us,  my  darkness  as  yet,  by  God's 
special  grace,  passed,  as  it  is,  amid  leisure  and  studies,  and  the 
voices  of  friends  and  their  greetings,  is  far  pleasanter  than  the 
darkness  of  death.  But  if,  as  it  is  written,  '  man  shall  not  live 
by  bread  alone,  but  by  every  word  that  proceedeth  out  of  the 
mouth  of  God,'  what  reason  is  there  why  any  one  should  not 
find  comfort  also  in  the  reflection  that  one  sees  not  by  the  eyes 
only,  but  by  the  light  of  God's  guidance  and  providence.  So 
long,  at  least,  as  He  himself  looks  out  for  me,  and  provides  for 
me,  as  He  does,  and  so  long  as  He  leads  and  guides  me  with 
His  hand  through  all  the  ways  of  life,  I  shall  gladly  bid  my  eyes 
keep  their  long  holiday,  since  it  has  so  seemed  best  to  Him. 
But  you,  my  dear  Philaras,  whatever  be  the  issue,  I  greet  with 
as  stout  and  firm  a  heart  as  if  I  were  Lynceus  himself, 

Westminster,  September  28,  1654. 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  9 1 


To  Cyriac  Skinner 

Cyriack,  this  three  years'  day,  these  eyes,  though  clear 

To  outward  view,  of  blemish  or  of  spot, 

Bereft  of  light,  their  seeing  have  forgot ; 

Nor  to  their  idle  orbs  doth  sight  appear 
Of  sun,  or  moon,  or  star,  throughout  the  year, 

Or  man  or  woman.     Yet  I  argue  not 

Against  Heaven's  hand  or  will,  nor  bate  a  jot 

Of  heart  or  hope,  but  still  bear  up  and  steer 
Right  onward.     What  supports  me,  dost  thou  ask? 

The  conscience,  friend,  to  have  lost  them  overplied        10 

In  Liberty's  defence,  my  noble  task, 
Of  which  all  Europe  felks)from  side  to  side,       f 

This  thought  might  lead  me  through  the  world's  vain  mask 

Content,  though  blind,  had  I  no  better  guide. 

On  his  deceased  wife 

Methought  I  saw  my  late  espoused  saint 
^     Brought  to  me  like  Alcestis  from  the  grave, 

Whom  Jove's  great  son  to  her  glad  husband  gave, 

Rescued  from  Death  by  force,  though  pale  and  faint. 

Mine,  as  whom  washed  from  spot  of  child-bed  taint        5 

Purification  in  the  Old  Law  did  save, 

And  such  as  yet  once  more  I  trust  to  have 

Full  sight  of  her  in  Heaven  without  restraint, 

Came  vested  all  in  white,  pure  as  her  mind. 

Her  face  was  veiled  ;  yet  to  my  fancied  sight  10 

Love,  sweetness,  goodness,  in  her  person  shined 

So  clear  as  in  no  face  with  more  delight. 

But,  oh  !  as  to  embrace  me  she  inclined, 

I  waked,  she  fled,  and  day  brought  back  my  night. 


92  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


To  the  most  accomplished  Emeric  Bigot.     {Familiar  Letters, 
No.  XXI.) 

.  .  .  Many  have  made  a  figure  by  their  published  writings 
whose  living  voice  and  daily  conversation  have  presented  next 
to  nothing  that  was  not  low  and  common  :  if  then,  I  can  attain 
the  distinction  of  seeming  myself  equal  in  mind  and  manners 
to  any  writings  of  mine  that  have  been  tolerably  to  the  pur- 
pose, there  will  be  the  double  effect  that  I  shall  so  have  added 
weight  personally  to  my  writings,  and  shall  receive  back  by  way 
of  reflection  from  them  credit,  how  small  soever  it  may  be,  yet 
greater  in  proportion.  For,  in  that  case,  whatever  is  right  and 
laudable  in  them,  that  same  I  shall  seem  not  more  to  have 
derived  from  authors  of  high  excellence  than  to  have  fetched 
forth  pure  and  sincere  from  the  inmost  feelings  of  my  own 
mind  and  soul.  I  am  glad,  therefore,  to  know  that  you  are 
assured  of  my  tranquillity  of  spirit  in  this  great  affliction  of  loss 
of  sight,  and  also  of  the  pleasure  I  have  in  being  civil  and 
attentive  in  the  reception  of  visitors  from  abroad.  Why,  in 
truth,  should  I  not  bear  gently  the  deprivation  of  sight,  when 
I  may  hope  that  it  is  not  so  much  lost  as  revoked  and 
retracted  inwards,  for  the  sharpening  rather  than  the  blunt- 
ing of  my  mental  edge?  Whence  it  is  that  I  neither  think  of 
books  with  anger,  nor  quite  intermit  the  study  of  them,  griev- 
ously though  they  have  mulcted  me,  —  were  it  only  that  I  am 
instructed  against  such  moroseness  by  the  example  of  King 
Telephus  of  the  Mysians,  who  refused  not  to  be  cured  in  the 
end  by  the  weapon  that  had  wounded  him.  .  .  . 

Westminster,  March  24,  1658. 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  93 


To  Henry  Oldenburg.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  XXIX.) 

...  Of  any  such  work  as  compiling  the  history  of  our 
political  troubles,  which  you  seem  to  advise,  I  have  no 
thought  whatever  [longe  absum]  :  they  are  worthier  of  silence 
than  of  commemoration.  What  is  needed  is  not  one  to  com- 
pile a  good  history  of  our  troubles,  but  one  who  can  happily 
end  the  troubles  themselves ;  for,  with  you,  I  fear  lest,  amid 
these  our  civil  discords,  or  rather  sheer  madnesses,  we  shall 
seem  to  the  lately  confederated  enemies  of  Liberty  and  Re- 
ligion a  too  fit  object  of  attack,  though  in  truth,  they  have  not 
yet  inflicted  a  severer  wound  on  Religion  than  we  ourselves 
have  been  long  doing  by  our  crimes.  But  God,  as  I  hope,  on 
His  own  account,  and  for  His  own  glory,  now  in  question,  will 
not  allow  the  counsels  and  onsets  of  the  enemy  to  succeed 
as  they  themselves  wish,  whatever  convulsions  Kings  and  Car- 
dinals meditate  and  design.  ...  ,      ,-^ 

Westminster,  December  20,  1659.       \ vw~*-    VI    \d~G&*- 


The  following  extract  from  the  Prefatory  address  to  the  Par- 
liament (the  restored  Rump)  shows  no  misgivings,  on  the  part 
of  Milton,  in  regard  to  the  stability  of  the  Commonwealth. 
But  he  must  have  been  secretly  hopeless.  Cromwell  had  died 
the  previous  year,  on  September  3,  and  his  son  Richard,  his 
successor,  had  abdicated  on  the  25th  of  the  following  May.  A 
state  of  things  little  short  of  anarchy  had  set  in  before  the 
publication  of  Milton's  pamphlet.  But  as  late  as  near  the  end 
of  February,  1660,  he  published  '  The  Ready  and  Easy  Way 
to  Establish  a  Free  Commonwealth,'  still,  as  it  appears,  unable 
to  believe,  desperate  as  was  the  state  of  things,  that  the  Com- 
monwealth was  in  its  death  throes.  On  the  29th  of  the 
following  May,  Charles  II.  entered  London  amid  the  wildest 


94  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

acclamations  of  the  people ;  and  the  commonwealth,  for 
which  Milton  had  fought  to  the  bitter  end,  was  no  more, 
and  he  himself  was  in  concealment.  But  he  must  have  been 
assured  that  the  principles  for  which  he  had  fought  would 
sooner  or  later  assert  themselves  in  spite  of  all  opposition  that 
could  be  brought  against  them,  though  he  could  hardly  have 
thought  that  these  principles  would  assert  themselves  so  soon 
as  they  did.  Fourteen  years  after  his  death,  James  II.  was 
driven  from  the  throne,  and  the  constitutional  basis  of  the 
monarchy  underwent  a  quite  radical  change  —  a  change 
largely,  if  not  wholly,  due  to  the  work  of  Puritanism,  which, 
it  was  generally  supposed,  at  the  Restoration  of  Charles  II. , 
had  been  completely  undone.  '  It  was,'  says  John  Richard 
Green,  '  from  the  moment  of  its  (Puritanism's)  seeming  fall 
that  its  real  victory  began.'  ^s^Jlj^C^' 

From  'Considerations  touching  the  Likeliest  Means  to  remove 
Hirelings  out  of  the  Church?     {August,  1659) 

Owing  to  your  protection,  Supreme  Senate  !  this  liberty  of 
writing,  which  I  have  used  these  eighteen  years  on  all  oc- 
casions to  assert  the  just  rights  and  freedoms  both  of  church 
and  state,  and  so  far  approved,  as  to  have  been  trusted  with 
the  representment  and  defence  of  your  actions  to  all  Chris- 
tendom against  an  adversary  of  no  mean  repute  ;  to  whom 
should  I  address  what  I  still  publish  on  the  same  argument, 
but  to  you,  whose  magnanimous  councils  first  opened  and 
unbound  the  age  from  a  double  bondage  under  prelatical  and 
regal  tyranny ;  above  our  own  hopes  heartening  us  to  look 
up  at  last,  like  men  and  Christians,  from  the  slavish  dejection, 
wherein  from  father  to  son  we  were  bred  up  and  taught ;  and 
thereby  deserving  of  these  nations,  if  they  be  not  barbarously 
ingrateful,  to  be  acknowledged,  next  under  God,  the  authors 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  95 

and  best  patrons  of  religious  and  civil  liberty,  that  ever  these 
islands  brought  forth?  The  care  and  tuition  of  whose  peace 
and  safety,  after  a  short  but  scandalous  night  of  interruption, 
is  now  again,  by  a  new  dawning  of  God's  miraculous  provi- 
dence among  us,  revolved  upon  your  shoulders.  And  to 
whom  more  appertain  these  considerations,  which  I  propound, 
than  to  yourselves,  and  the  debate  before  you,  though  I  trust 
of  no  difficulty,  yet  at  present  of  great  expectation,  not 
whether  ye  will  gratify,  were  it  no  more  than  so,  but  whether 
ye  will  hearken  to  the  just  petition  of  many  thousands  best 
affected  both  to  religion  and  to  this  your  return,  or  whether 
ye  will  satisfy,  which  you  never  can,  the  covetous  pretences 
and  demands  of  insatiable  hirelings,  whose  disaffection  ye 
well  know  both  to  yourselves  and  your  resolutions  ?  That  I, 
though  among  many  others  in  this  common  concernment, 
interpose  to  your  deliberations  what  my  thoughts  also  are ; 
your  own  judgment  and  the  success  thereof  hath  given  me 
the  confidence :  which  requests  but  this,  that  if  I  have  pros- 
perously, God  so  favouring  me,  defended  the  public  cause  of 
this  commonwealth  to  foreigners,  ye  would  not  think  the 
reason  and  ability,  whereon  ye  trusted  once  (and  repent  not) 
your  whole  reputation  to  the  world,  either  grown  less  by  more 
maturity  and  longer  study,  or  less  available  in  English  than 
in  another  tongue ;  but  that  if  it  sufficed  some  years  past  to 
convince  and  satisfy  the  unengaged  of  other  nations  in  the 
justice  of  your  doings,  though  then  held  paradoxal,  it  may  as 
well  suffice  now  against  weaker  opposition  in  matters,  except 
here  in  England  with  a  spirituality  of  men  devoted  to  their 
temporal  gain,  of  no  controversy  else  among  protestants. 
Neither  do  I  doubt,  seeing  daily  the  acceptance  which  they 
find  who  in  their  petitions  venture  to  bring  advice  also,  and 
new  models  of  a  commonwealth,  but  that  you  will  interpret 
it  much  more  the  duty  of  a  Christian  to  offer  what  his  con- 


96  MILTON'S  'AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

science  persuades  him  may  be  of  moment  to  the  freedom  and 
better  constituting  of  the  church  :  since  it  is  a  deed  of  highest 
charity  to  help  undeceive  the  people,  and  a  work  worthiest 
your  authority,  in  all  things  else  authors,  assertors,  and  now 
recoverers  of  our  liberty,  to  deliver  us,  the  only  people  of  all 
protestants  left  still  undelivered,  from  the  oppressions  of  a 
simonious  decimating  clergy,  who  shame  not,  against  the 
judgment  and  practice  of  all  other  churches  reformed,  to 
maintain,  though  very  weakly,  their  popish  and  oft-refuted 
positions  ;  not  in  a  point  of  conscience  wherein  they  might  be 
blameless,  but  in  a  point  of  covetousness  and  unjust  claim  to 
other  men's  goods ;  a  contention  foul  and  odious  in  any  man, 
but  most  of  all  in  ministers  of  the  gospel,  in  whom  contention, 
though  for  their  own  right,  scarce  is  allowable.  Till  which 
grievances  be  removed,  and  religion  set  free  from  the 
monopoly  of  hirelings,  I  dare  affirm  that  no  model  whatso- 
ever of  a  commonwealth  will  prove  successful  or  undisturbed  j 
and  so  persuaded,  implore  divine  assistance  on  your  pious 
counsels  and  proceedings  to  unanimity  in  this  and  all  other 
truth. 

—  John  Milton. 

Autobiographic  passages  in  the  'Paradise  LosV 

'  Hail,  holy  Light,  offspring  of  Heaven  first-born  ! 

Or  of  the  Eternal  coeternal  beam 

May  I  express  thee  unblamed  ?  since  God  is  light, 

And  never  but  in  unapproached  light 

Dwelt  from  eternity  —  dwelt  then  in  thee,  5 

Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence,  increate  ! 

Or  hearest  thou  rather  pure  Ethereal  stream, 

Whose  fountain  who  shall  tell  ?     Before  the  Sun, 

Before  the  Heavens,  thou  wert,  and  at  the  voice 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


97 


Of  God,  as  with  a  mantle,  didst  invest  10 

The  rising  World  of  waters  dark  and  deep, 

Won  from  the  void  and  formless  Infinite  ! 

Thee  I  revisit  now  with  bolder  wing, 

Escaped  the  Stygian  Pool,  though  long  detained 

In  that  obscure  sojourn,  while  in  my  flight,  15 

Through  utter  and  through  middle  Darkness  borne, 

With  other  notes  than  to  the  Orphean  lyre 

I  sung  of  Chaos  and  eternal  Night,  / 

Taught  by  the  Heavenly  Muse  to  venture  down 

The  dark  descent,  and  up  to  reascend,  \  20 

Though  hard  and  rare.     Thee  I  revisit  safe, 

And  feel  thy  sovran  vital  lamp ;  but  thou 

Revisit'st  not  these  eyes,  that  roll  in  vain 

To  find  thy  piercing  ray,  and  find  no  dawn ; 

So  thick  a  drop  serene  hath  quenched  their  orbs,  25 

Or  dim  suffusion  veiled.     Yet  not  the  more 

Cease  I  to  wander  where  the  Muses  haunt 

Clear  spring,  or  shady  grove,  or  sunny  hill, 

Smit  with  the  love  of  sacred  song ;  but  chief 

Thee,  Sion,  and  the  flowery  brooks  beneath,  30 

That  wash  thy  hallowed  feet,  and  warbling  flow, 

Nightly  I  visit  :  nor  sometimes  forget 

Those  other  two  equalled  with  me  in  fate, 

So  were  I  equalled  with  them  in  renown, 

Elind  Thamyris  and  blind  Maeonides,  35 

And  Tiresias  and  Phineus,  prophets  old  : 

Then  feed  on  thoughts  that  voluntary  move 

Harmonious  numbers  ;  as  the  wakeful  bird 

Sings  darkling,  and,  in  shadiest  covert  hid, 

Tunes  her  nocturnal  note.     Thus  with  the  year  40 

Seasons  return  j  but  not  to  me  returns 

Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  even  or  morn, 

H 


98  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rose, 
Or  flocks,  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine  ; 
But  cloud  instead  and  ever-during  dark  45 

Surrounds  me,  from  the  cheerful  ways  of  men 
Cut  off,  and,  for  the  book  of  knowledge  fair, 
Presented  with  a  universal  blank 
Of  Nature's  works,  to  me  expunged  and  rased, 
And  wisdom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out.  50 

So  much  the  rather  thou,  Celestial  Light, 
Shine  inward  and  the  mind  through  all  her  powers 
Irradiate ;  there  plant  eyes ;  all  mist  from  thence 
Purge  and  disperse,  that  I  may  see  and  tell 
Of  things  invisible  t®  mertal  sight.'  55 

—  Paradise  Lost,  Book  Hi.  1-55. 

1  Descend  from  Heaven,  Urania,  by  that  name 

If  rightly  thou  art  called,  whose  voice  divine 

Following,  above  the  Olympian  hill  I  soar, 

Above  the  flight  of  Pegasean  wing  ! 

The  meaning,  not  the  name,  I  call ;  for  thou  5 

Nor  of  the  Muses  nine,  nor  on  the  top 

Of  old  Olympus  dwell'st ;  but,  heavenly-born, 

Before  the  hills  appeared  or  fountain  flowed, 

Thou  with  Eternal  Wisdom  didst  converse, 

Wisdom  thy  sister,  and  with  her  didst  play  10 

In  presence  of  the  Almighty  Father,  pleased 

With  thy  celestial  song.     Up  led  by  thee, 

Into  the  Heaven  of  Heavens  I  have  presumed, 

An  earthly  guest,  and  drawn  empyreal  air, 

Thy  tempering.     With  like  safety  guided  down,  15 

Return  me  to  my  native  element ; 

Lest,  from  this  flying  steed  unreined  (as  once 

Bellerophon,  though  from  a  lower  clime) 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  99 

Dismounted,  on  the  Aleian  field  I  fall, 

Erroneous  there  to  wander  and  forlorn.  20 

Half  yet  remains  unsung,  but  narrower  bound 

Within  the  visible  Diurnal  Sphere. 

Standing  on  Earth,  not  rapt  above  the  pole, 

More  safe  I  sing  with  mortal  voice,  unchanged 

To  hoarse  or  mute,  though  fallen  on  evil  days,  25 

On  evil  days  though  fallen,  and  evil  tongues, 

In  darkness,  and  with  dangers  compassed  round, 

And  solitude  ;  yet  not  alone,  while  thou 

Visit'st  my  slumbers  nightly,  or  when  Morn 

Purples  the  East.     Still  govern  thou  my  song,  30 

Urania,  and  fit  audience  find,  though  few. 

But  drive  far  off  the  barbarous  dissonance 

Of  Bacchus  and  his  revellers,  the  race 

Of  that  wild  rout  that  tore  the  Thracian  bard 

In  Rhodope,  where  woods  and  rocks  had  ears  35 

To  rapture,  till  the  savage  clamour  drowned 

Both  harp  and  voice ;  nor  could  the  Muse  defend 

Her  son.  %  So  fail  not  thou  who  thee  implores ; 

For  thou  art  heavenly,  she  an  empty  dream.' 

— Paradise  Lost,  Book  vii.  1-39. 

'  No  more  of  talk  where  God  or  Angel  Guest 

With  Man,  as  with  his  friend,  familiar  used 

To  sit  indulgent,  and  with  him  partake 

Rural  repast,  permitting  him  the  while 

Venial  discourse  unblamed.     I  now  must  change  5 

Those  notes  to  tragic  —  foul  distrust,  and  breach 

Disloyal,  on  the  part  of  man,  revolt 

And  disobedience  ;  on  the  part  of  Heaven, 

Now  alienated,  distance  and  distaste, 

Anger  and  just  rebuke,  and  judgment  given,  10 


IOO  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

That  brought  int«  this  W«rld  a  w%rld  of  w^e, 

Sin  and  her  shadow  Death,  and  Misery, 

Death's  harbinger.     Sad  task  !  yet  argument 

N#t  less  but  rn^re  heroic  than  the  wrath 

•f  stern  Achilles  «n  his  fee  pursued  15 

Thrice  fugitive  about  Tr«y  wall ;  *r  rage 

Of  Turnus  frr  Lavinia  disesp«used  ; 

#r  Neptune's  ire,  or  June's,  that  s«  l#ng 

Perplexed  the  Greek,  and  Cytherea's  son ; 

If  answerable  style  I  can  obtain  20 

Of  my  celestial  Patroness,  who  deigns 

Her  nightly  visitation  unimplored. 

And  dictates  to  me  slumbering,  or  inspires 

Easy  my  unpremeditated  verse, 

Since  first  this  subject  for  heroic  song  25 

Pleased  me,  long  choosing  and  beginning  late, 

Not  sedulous  by  nature  to  indite 

Wars,  hitherto  the  only  argument 

Heroic  deemed,  chief  mastery  to  dissect 

With  long  and  tedious  havoc  fabled  knights  30 

In  battles  feigned  (the  better  fortitude 

Of  patience  and  heroic  martyrdom 

Unsung),  or  to  describe  races  and  games, 

Or  tilting  furniture,  emblazoned  shields, 

Impresses  quaint,  caparisons  and  steeds,  35 

Bases  and  tinsel  trappings,  gorgeous  knights 

At  joust  and  tournament ;  then  marshalled  feast 

Served  up  in  hall  with  sewers  and  seneshals : 

The  skill  of  artifice  or  office  mean ; 

Not  that  which  justly  gives  heroic  name  40 

T«  person  or  to  poem  !  Me,  of  these 

Nor  skilled  nor  studious,  higher  argument 

Remains,  sufficient  of  itself  to  raise 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  101 

That  ilame,  unless  an  age  too  late,  or  cold 

Climate,  or  years,  damp  my  intended  wing  45 

Depressed  ;  and  much  they  may  if  all  be  mine, 

Not  hers  who  brings  it  nightly  to»my  ear.L      • 

-±  Paradise  Lost,  Booft  ix.  1-47. 

The  following  verses  addressed  to  the  semph  Abdiel,  Milton, 
at  the  time  he  wr6te*them,  mi£ht  justly  have  taken  to4himself : 

'  Servant  of  God,  well  done  !     Well  hast  thou  fought 
The  better  fight,  who  single  hast  maintained 
Against  revolted  multitudes  the  cause 
Of  truth,  in  word  mightier  than  they  in  arms, 
And  for  the  testimony  of  truth  hast  borne 
Universal  reproach,  far  worse  to  bear 
Than  violence  ;  for  this  was  all  thy  care  — 
To  stand  approved  in  sight  of  God,  though  worlds 
Judged  thee  perverse.' 

—  Paradise  Lost,  Book  vi.  29-37. 

Milton  regarded  himself  as  an  Abdiel  {i.e.  as  the  name 
signifies  in  Hebrew,  Servant  of  God),  in  the  past  struggle  for 
civil  and  religious  liberty ;  like  Abdiel, 

'  Among  innumerable  false,  unmoved, 

Unshaken,  unseduced,  unterrified, 

His  loyalty  he  kept,  his  love,  his  zeal ; 

Nor  number  nor  example  with  him  wrought 

To  swerve  from  truth,  or  change  his  constant  mind, 

Though  single.' 

—  Paradise  Lost,  Book  v.  898-903. 

The  following,  from  '  Paradise  Regained,'  Book  i.  196-208, 
Milton  might  have  written  of  himself: 


102  MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

1  Oh,  what  a  multitude  of  thoughts  at  once 
Awakened  in  me  swarm,  while  I  consider 
What  from  within  I  feel  myself,  and  hear 
What  from  without  comes  often  to  my  ears, 
111  sorting  with  my  present  state  compared ! 
When  I  was  yet  a  child,  no  childish  play 
To  me  was  pleasing  ;  all  my  mind  was  set 
Serious  to  learn  and  know,  and  thence  to  do, 
What  might  be  public  good;  myself  I  thought 
Born  to  that  end,  born  to  promote  all  truth, 
All  righteous  things.    Therefore,  above  my  years, 
The  Law  of  God  I  read,  and  found  it  sweet ; 
Made  it  my  whole  delight.' 

The  following  letter  reveals  the  difficulties  under  which 
Milton,  in  his  blindness,  was,  at  times,  obliged  to  write. 

To  the  very  distinguished  Peter  Heimbach,   Councillor  to  the 
Elector  of  Brandenburg.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  XXXI.) 

Small  wonder  if,  in  the  midst  of  so  many  deaths  of  my 
countrymen,  in  a  year  of  such  heavy  pestilence,  you  believed, 
as  you  write  you  did,  on  the  faith  of  some  special  rumour, 
that  I  also  had  been  cut  ofT.  Such  a  rumour  among  your 
people  is  not  displeasing,  if  it  was  the  occasion  of  making 
known  the  fact  that  they  were  anxious  for  my  safety,  for  then 
I  can  regard  it  as  a  sign  of  their  good  will  to  me.  But,  by  the 
blessing  of  God,  who  had  provided  for  my  safety  in  a  country 
retreat,  I  am  still  both  alive  and  well,  nor  useless  yet,  I  hope, 
for  any  duty  that  remains  to  be  performed  by  me  in  this  life.  — 
That  after  so  long  an  interval  I  should  have  come  into  your 
mind  is  very  agreeable  j  although,  from  your  exuberant  expres- 
sion of  the  matter,  you  seem  to  afford  some  ground  for  sus- 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  TO3 

pecting  that  you  have  rather  forgotten  me,  professing  as  you 
do  such  an  admiration  of  the  marriage-union  in  me  of  so  many 
different  virtues.  Truly,  I  should  dread  a  too  numerous  prog- 
eny from  so  many  forms  of  the  marriage-union  as  you  enu- 
merate, were  it  not  an  established  truth  that  virtues  are 
nourished  most  and  flourish  most  in  straitened  and  hard 
circumstances ;  albeit  I  may  say  that  one  of  the  virtues  of  your 
list  has  not  very  handsomely  requited  me  the  hospitable  recep- 
tion she  had.  For  what  you  call  policy,  but  I  would  rather 
have  you  call  loyalty  to  one's  country,  —  this  particular  lass, 
after  inveigling  me  with  her  fair  name,  has  almost  expatriated 
me,  so  to  speak.  The  chorus  of  the  rest,  however,  makes  a  very 
fine  harmony.  One's  country  is  wherever  it  is  well  with  one. — 
And  now  I  will  conclude,  after  first  begging  you,  if  you  find 
anything  incorrectly  written  or  without  punctuation  here,  to 
impute  that  to  the  boy  who  has  taken  it  down  from  my  dicta- 
tion, and  who  is  utterly  ignorant  of  Latin,  so  that  I  was  forced, 
while  dictating,  not  without  misery,  to  spell  out  the  letters  of 
the  words  one  by  one.  Meanwhile,  I  am  glad  that  the  merits 
of  one  whom  I  knew  as  a  young  man  of  excellent  hope  have 
raised  him  to  so  honourable  a  place  in  his  Prince's  favour ;  and 
I  desire  and  hope  all  prosperity  for  you  otherwise.  Farewell ! 
London,  August  15,  1666.  ^SljJ^u^' 


104  MILTON'S  IDEA    OF   TRUE  LIBERTY 


PASSAGES  IN  MILTON'S  PROSE  AND  POETICAL 
WORKS  IN  WHICH  HIS  IDEA  OF  TRUE  LIBERTY, 
INDIVIDUAL,  DOMESTIC,  CIVIL,  POLITICAL,  AND 
RELIGIOUS,   IS  EXPLICITLY   SET   FORTH 

From  an  early  period  of  his  life  Milton,  as  has  been  seen, 
looked  forward  to  the  production  of  a  great  poem  which  would 
embody  his  highest  ideals  of  the  true  life  of  man  and  which 
1  after  times  would  not  willingly  let  die ' ;  and  all  his  studies 
and  all  his  earliest  efforts  in  poetry  were,  advisedly,  prepara- 
tions for  this  prospective  creation.  He  estimated  learning 
wholly  as  a  means  of  building  himself  up  for  the  work  to  which 
he  felt  himself  dedicated.  He  cared  not  for  learned  lumber 
which  he  could  not  bring  into  relation  with  his  intellectual  or 
spiritual  vitality,  or  make  use  of  in  his  creative  work.  '  Learn- 
ing for  its  own  sake  '  was  no  part  of  his  creed  as  a  scholar.  He 
may  be  said  to  speak  for  himself  in  the  words  which  he  gives 
to  the  Saviour  in  the  'Paradise  Regained'  (Book  iv.  322  et 
seq.)  : 

'  who  reads 
Incessantly,  and  to  his  reading  brings  not 
A  spirit  and  judgment  equal  or  superior, 
—  And  what  he  brings,  what  needs  he  elsewhere  seek?  — 
Uncertain  and  unsettled  still  remains, 
Deep-versed  in  books  and  shallow  in  himself, 
Crude  or  intoxicate,  collecting  toys 
And  trifles  for  choice  matters,  worth  a  spunge ; 
As  children  gathering  pebbles  on  the  shore.' 


MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY  105 

And  so,  too,  in  the  words  which  he  gives  to  the  angel  Raphael, 
in  the  'Paradise  Lost'  (Book  vii.  126  ei seq.)  : 

1  But  knowledge  is  as  food,  and  needs  no  less 
Her  temperance  over  appetite,  to  know 
In  measure  what  the  mind  may  well  contain ; 
Oppresses  else  with  surfeit,  and  soon  turns 
Wisdom  to  folly,  as  nourishment  to  wind.' 

Wordsworth  had  as  firm  an  assurance  as  Milton  had,  that  he  J 
was  a  dedicated  spirit;  but  he  did  not  attach  the  importance* 
which  Milton  did  to  great  acquisitions  of  knowledge  as  a  means 
to  the  fulfilment  of  hfs  mission^  But  Wordsworth's  sense  of  his 
mission  as  a  poet  called  for  an  expression  of  his  soul-experi- 
ences in  occasional  poems.  The  composition  of  a  great  epic 
would  have  shut  him  off  from  expressing,  day  by  day,  the  rela- 
tions of  Nature  to  the  soul,  as  those  relations  were  revealed 
to  him  —  relations  with  which  wide  learning  had  comparatively 
little  to  do. 

Milton  was  constitutionally,  as  well  as  by  his  education  and 
associations,  a  Puritan.  And  the  state  of  the  times  in  which  he 
lived  cooperated  with  his  mental  and  moral  constitution,  and  with 
his  education,  to  make  the  conflict  of  Good  and  Evil,  the  great 
fact,  for  him,  of  the  world,  and,  indeed,  of  the  Universe.  To  pic- 
ture in  the  most  impressive  way  possible  this  great  fact,  and  the 
sure  triumph  of  Good  over  Evil,  however  long  that  triumph  may 
be  retarded,  he  early  felt  to  be  his  mission  as  a  poet.  And  he 
looked  upon  the  acquisition  of  great  stores  of  learning  as  part 
of  the  indispensable  equipment  for  one,  who,  in  this  conflict, 
would  range  himself  on  the  side  of  Good.  All  history  and  all 
literatures,  all  sciences,  religions,  mythologies,  were  to  be  ex- 
plored, and  made  subservient,  as  far  as  might  be,  by  him  who 
would  fight  the  good  fight.  The  accumulated  knowledge  and 
wisdom  of  mankind  was  for  him  a  part  of  that  panoply  of  God 


106  MILTON'S  IDEA    OF   TRUE  LIBERTY 

which  St.  Paul,  in  his  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians  (vi.  n),  com- 
mands to  put  on,  in  order  to  '  be  able  to  stand  against  the 
wiles  of  the  devil.' 

But  learning  was  but  a  part,  and  however  indispensable,  an 
inferior  part,  of  this  panoply.  The  soul's  essential  self,  as  the 
medium  of  the  divine,  must  give  the  prime  efficacy  to  whatever 
is  done  in  the  mighty  conflict  of  good  with  evil.  In  the  words 
of  Browning's  'Sordello,'  '  a  poet  must  be  earth's  essential  king,' 
and  he  is  that  by  virtue  of  his  exerting,  or  shedding  the  influ- 
ence of,  his  essential  personality  in  his  poetical  creations.  In 
his  'Apology  for  Smectymnuus,'  he  says,  'And  long  it  was 
not  after,  when  I  was  confirmed  in  this  opinion,  that  he  who 
would  not  be  frustrate  of  his  hope  to  write  well  hereafter  in 
laudable  things,  ought  himself  to  be  a  true  poetn  ;  that  is,  a  com- 
position and  pattern  of  the  best  and  honourablest  things ;  not 
presuming  to  sing  high  praises  of  heroic  men,  or  famous  cities, 
unless  he  have  in  himself  the  experience  and  the  practice  of  all 
that  which  is  praiseworthy? 

'  And  in  his  'Reason  of  Church  Government  urged  against 
Prelaty,'  he  speaks  of  the  great  work  which  looms  hazily  up  in 
the  future,  as  one  'not  to  be  obtained  by  the  invocation  of 
dame  memory  and  her  siren  daughters,  but  by  devout  prayer 
to  that  eternal  Spirit,  who  can  enrich  with  all  utterance  and 
knowledge,  and  sends  out  his  Seraphim,  with  the  hallowed  fire  of 
his  altar,  to  touch  and  purify  the  lips  of  whom  he  pleases :  to 
this  must  be  added  industrious  and  select  reading,  steady  obser- 
vation, insight  into  all  seemly  and  generous  arts  and  affairs ; ' 
etc.  In  his  invocation  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  in  the  opening  of  the 
'  Paradise  Lost,'  he  says  : 

'  And  chiefly  thou,  O  Spirit  that  dost  prefer 
Before  all  temples  the  upright  heart  and  pure, 
Instruct  me.' 


MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY  107 

And  in  the  'Paradise  Regained'  (Book  i.  8-15)  : 

1  Thou  Spirit,  who  ledst  this  glorious  Eremite 
Into  the  desert,  his  victorious  field, 
Against  the  spiritual  foe,  and  broughtst  him  thence 
By  proof  the  undoubted  Son  of  God,  inspire, 
As  thou  art  wont,  my  prompted  song,  else  mute, 
And  bear  through  highth  or  depth  of  Nature's  bounds, 
With  prosperous  wing  full  summed,  to  tell  of  deeds 
Above  heroic' 

Milton  did  not  entertain  the  restricted  view  of  inspiration 
which  is  still  entertained  by  large  numbers  of  good  people, 
namely,  that  only  the  writers  of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments 
were  inspired.  With  him,  every  soul,  raised,  by  ardent  faith 
and  sanctified  desire,  to  a  high  plane  of  spirituality,  and  thus 
brought  into  relationship  with  the  highest  spiritual  forces,  was, 
in  a  measure,  inspired. 

What  follows  the  quotation  just  made,  from  St.  Paul's  Epistle 
to  the  Ephesians  (vi.  12-18),  is  the  best  expression  which  may 
be  given  of  Milton's  actuating  creed  : 

1  We  wrestle  not  against  flesh  and  blood,  but  against  princi- 
palities, against  powers,  against  the  rulers  of  the  darkness  of 
this  world,  against  spiritual  wickedness  in  high  places.  Where- 
fore take  unto  you  the  whole  armour  of  God,  that  ye  may  be 
able  to  withstand  in  the  evil  day,  and  having  done  all,  to  stand. 
Stand  therefore,  having  your  loins  girt  about  with  truth,  and 
having  on  the  breastplate  of  righteousness ;  and  your  feet  shod 
with  the  preparation  of  the  gospel  of  peace ;  above  all,  taking 
the  shield  of  faith,  wherewith  ye  shall  be  able  to  quench  all 
the  fiery  darts  of  the  wicked.  And  take  the  helmet  of  salva- 
tion, and  the  sword  of  the  Spirit,  which  is  the  word  of  God : 
praying  always  with  all  prayer  and  supplication  in  the  Spirit, 


108  MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY 

and  watching  thereunto  with  all  perseverance  and  supplication 
for  all  saints.' 

It  would  seem  that  this  grand  passage  from  the  Apostle  must 
occur  to  every  reader  of  Milton  as  the  best  expression  of  the 
law  according  to  which  he  lived  and  wrote. 
/  The  intellectual  and  spiritual  preparation  which  Milton  felt 
necessary,  and  was  making,  with  an  undivided  devotion,  for 
the  production  of  a  great  poem,  determined  his  idea  of  liberty 
when,  bidding  farewell,  for  a  time  (he  could  not  have  thought 
that  it  would  be  for  so  long  a  time),  to  the  loved  haunts  of 
the  Muses,  he  engaged  as  a  polemic  prose  writer,  in  the 
struggle  for  domestic,  civil,  political,  and  religious  liberty. 
This  idea,  which  may  be  said  to  be  the  informing  principle 
of  his  prose  works,  is  that  inward  liberty  is  the  condition  of 
true  outward  liberty.  The  latter  cannot  exist  without  the 
former.  What  is  often  miscalled  liberty  is  license  ;  which  only 
leads  to  a  more  degraded  inward  servitude.  For,  in  the 
absence  of  wholesome  restraint,  and  of  discipline  either  self- 
imposed,  or  imposed  by  those  in  authority,  men  in  their  weak- 
ness become  more  and  more  subjected  to  their  lower  nature. 
This  idea  is  beautifully  presented  in  the  following  passage  : 

From  *  The  Reason  of  Church  Government  urged  against 
Prelaty:     Chap.  I. 

'  There  is  not  that  thing  in  the  world  of  more  grave  and  urgent 
importance  throughout  the  whole  life  of  man,  than  is  Discipline. 
What  need  I  instance?  He  that  hath  read  with  judgment  of 
nations  and  commonwealths,  of  cities  and  camps,  of  peace  and 
war,  sea  and  land,  will  readily  agree  that  the  flourishing  and 
decaying  of  all  civil  societies,  all  the  moments  and  turnings 
of  human  occasions,  are  moved  to  and  fro  as  upon  the  axle  of 
discipline.     So  that  whatsoever  power  or  sway  in  mortal  things 


MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY  109 

weaker  men  have  attributed  to  Fortune,  I  durst  with  more 
confidence  (the  honour  of  Divine  Providence  ever  saved) 
ascribe  either  to  the  vigour  or  the  slackness  of  discipline. 
Nor  is  there  any  sociable  perfection  in  this  life,  civil  or  sacred, 
that  can  be  above  discipline ;  but  she  is  that  which  with  her 
musical  chords  preserves  and  holds  all  the  parts  thereof  to- 
gether. Hence  in  those  perfect  armies  of  Cyrus  in  Xenophon, 
and  Scipio  in  the  Roman  stories,  the  excellence  of  military 
skill  was  esteemed,  not  by  the  not  needing,  but  by  the 
readiest  submitting  to  the  edicts  of  their  commander.  And 
certainly  discipline  is  not  only  the  removal  of  disorder;  but 
if  any  visible  shape  can  be  given  to  divine  things,  the  very 
visible  shape  and  image  of  Virtue,  whereby  she  is  not  only 
seen  in  the  regular  gestures  and  motions  of  her  heavenly 
paces,  as  she  walks,  but  also  makes  the  harmony  of  her  voice 
audible  to  mortal  ears.  Yea,  the  angels  themselves,  in  whom 
no  disorder  is  feared,  as  the  apostle  that  saw  them  in  his 
rapture  describes,  are  distinguished  and  quaternioned  into 
their  celestial  princedoms  and  satrapies,  according  as  God 
himself  has  writ  his  imperial  decrees  through  the  great 
provinces  of  heaven.  The  state  also  of  the  blessed  in  para- 
dise, though  never  so  perfect,  is  not  therefore  left  without 
discipline,  whose  golden  surveying  reed  marks  out  and 
measures  every  quarter  and  circuit  of  New  Jerusalem.  Yet 
is  it  not  to  be  conceived,  that  those  eternal  effluences  of 
sanctity  and  love  in  the  glorified  saints  should  by  this  means 
be  confine?!  and  cloyed  with  repetition  of  that  which  is  pre-_ 
scribed',  but  that  our  happiness  may  orb  itself  into  a 
thousand  vacancies  of  glnry  and  delight,  and  with  a  kind  of 
eccentrical  equation  be.  as  it  were,  an  invariable  planet  of 
joy  and  felicity ;  how  much  less  can  we  believe  that  God 
would  leave  his  frail  and  feeble,  though  not  less  beloved 
church  here   below,  to  the  perpetual   stumble  of  conjecture 


/ 


110  MILTON'S  IDEA    OF   TRUE  LIBERTY 

and  disturbance  in  this  our  dark  voyage,  without  the  card 
and  compass  of  discipline?  Which  is  so  hard  to  be  of  man's 
making,  that  we  may  see  even  in  the  guidance  of  a  civil  state 
to  worldly  happiness,  it  is  not  for  every  learned,  or  every  wise 
man,  though  many  of  them  consult  in  common,  to  invent  or 
frame  a  discipline  :  but  if  it  be  at  all  the  work  of  man,  it  must 
be  of  such  a  one  as  is  a  Jrue  knower  of  himself,  and  in  whom 
contemplation  and  practice,  wit,  prudence,  fortitude,  and 
eloquence  must  be  rarely  met,  both  to  comprehend  the 
hidden  causes  of  things,  and  span  in  his  thoughts  all  the 
various  effects  that  passion  or  complexion  can  work  in  man's 
nature ;  and  hereto  must  his  hand  be  at  defiance  with  gain, 
and  his  heart  in  all  virtues  heroic ;  so  far  is  it  from  the  ken 
of  these  wretched  projectors  of  ours,  that  bescrawl  their 
pamphlets  ev„ery  day  with  new  forms  of  government  for  our 
church.  And  therefore  all  the  ancient  lawgivers  were  either 
truly  inspired,  as  Moses,  or  were  such  men  as  with  authority 
enough  might  give  it  out  to  be  so,  as  Minos,  Lycurgus,  Numa, 
because  they  wisely  forethought  that  men  would  never  quietly 
submit  to  such  a  discipline  as  had  not  more  of  God's  hand  in 
it  than  man's.  To  come  within  the  narrowness  of  house- 
hold government,  observation  will  show  us  many  deep 
counsellors  of  state  and  judges  to  demean  themselves  in- 
corruptly  in  the  settled  course  of  affairs,  and  many  worthy 
preachers,  upright  in  their  lives,  powerful  in  their  audience  : 
but  look  upon  either  of  these  men  when  they  are  left  to 
their  own  disciplining  at  home,  and  you  shall  soon  perceive, 
for  all  their  single  knowledge  and  uprightness,  how  deficient 
they  are  in  the  regulating  of  their  own  family ;  not  only  in 
what  may  concern  the  virtuous  and  decent  composure  of 
their  minds  in  their  several  places,  but,  that  which  is  of  a 
lower  and  easier  performance,  the  right  possessing  of  the 
outward   vessel,   their   body,   in   health   or   sickness,   rest   or 


MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY  I  [I 

labour,  diet  or  abstinence,  whereby  to  render  it  more  pliant 
to  the  soul,  and  useful  to  the  commonwealth  j  which  if  men 
were  but  as  good  to  discipline  themselves,  as  some  are  to 
tutor  their  horses  and  hawks,  it  could  not  be  so  gross  in  most 
households.  If  then  it  appear  so  hard,  and  so  little  known 
how  to  govern  a  house  well,  which  is  thought  of  so  easy 
discharge,  and  for  every  man's  undertaking,  what  skill  of 
man,  what  wisdom,  what  parts  can  be  sufficient  to  give  laws 
and  ordinances  to  the  elect  household  of  God?  If  we  could 
imagine  that  he  had  left  it  at  random  without  his  provident 
and  gracious  ordering,  who  is  he  so  arrogant,  so  presumptuous, 
that  durst  dispose  and  guide  the  living  ark  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
though  he  should  find  it  wandering  in  the  field  of  Beth- 
shemesh,  without  the  conscious  warrant  of  some  high  calling? 
But  no  profane  insolence  can  parallel  that  whic^  our  prelates 
dare  avouch,  to  drive  outrageously,  and  shatter  the  holy  ark 
of  the  church,  not  borne  upon  their  shoulders  with  pains  and 
labour  in  the  word,  but  drawn  with  rude  oxen,  their  officials, 
and  their  own  brute  inventions.  Let  them  make  shows  of 
reforming  while  they  will,  so  long  as  the  church  is  mounted 
upon  the  prelatical  cart,  and  not,  as  it  ought,  between  the 
hands  of  the  ministers,  it  will  but  shake  and  totter ;  and  he 
that  sets  to  his  hand,  though  with  a  good  intent  to  hinder  the 
shogging  of  it,  in  this  unlawful  waggonry  wherein  it  rides,  let 
him  beware  it  be  not  fatal  to  him,  as  it  was  to  Uzza.' 

The  following  are  some  of  the  many  explicit  statements  of  Mil- 
ton's idea  of  Liberty,  which  occur  in  his  Prose  Works.  They  may 
be  said  to  be  variations  on  the  saying  of  the  Saviour  Qohn  viii. 
31,  32), '  If  ye  abide  in  my  word,  then  are  ye  truly  my  disciples ; 
and  ye  shall  know  the  truth,  and  the  truth  shall  make  you  free ' : 

*  What  though  the  brood  of  Belial,  the  draff  of  men,  to  whom 
no  liberty  is  pleasing,  but  unbridled  and  vagabond  lust  without 


112  MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY 

pale  or  partition,  will  laugh  broad  perhaps,  to  see  so  great  a 

strength  of  scripture  mustering  up  in  favour,  as  they  suppose, 

of  their  debaucheries ;  they  will  know  better  when  they  shall 

hence  learn,  that  honest  liberty  is  the  greatest  foe  to  dishonest 

licence.' 

—  The  Doctrine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce. 

'Real  and  substantial  liberty  is  rather  to  be  sought  from 

within  than  from  without ;  its  existence  depends,  not  so  much 

on  the  terror  of  the  sword,  as  in  sobriety  of  conduct  and 

integrity  of  life.' 

— Second  Defence  of  the  People  of  England. 

'  The  exposition  here  alleged  is  neither  new  nor  licentious, 
as  some  now  would  persuade  the  commonalty,  although  it  be 
nearer  truth  that  nothing  is  more  new  than  those  teachers 
themselves,  and  nothing  more  licentious  than  some  known  to 
be,  whose  hypocrisy  yet  shames  not  to  take  offence  at  this 
doctrine  for  licence,  whereas  indeed  they  fear  it  would  re- 
move licence,  and  leave  them  few  companions.' 

—  Tetrachordon. 

'  In  every  commonwealth,  when  it  decays,  corruption  makes 
two  main  steps  :  -first,  when  men  cease  to  do  according  to  the 
inward  and  uncompelled  actions  of  virtue,  caring  only  to  live 
by  the  outward  constraint  of  law,  and  turn  this  simplicity  of 
real  good  into  the  craft  of  seeming  so  by  law.  To  this  hypo- 
critical honesty  was  Rome  declined  in  that  age  wherein  Horace 
lived,  and  discovered  it  to  Quinctius' : 

.  J  Whom  do  we  count  a  good  man,  whom  but  he 
Who  keeps  the  laws  and  statutes  of  the  Senate  ? 
Who  judges  in  great  suits  and  controversies? 
Whose  witness  and  opinion  wins  the  cause  ? 
But  his  own  house,  and  the  whole  neighbourhood 
Sees  his  foul  inside  through  his  whited  skin.' 


MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY  113 

1  The  next  declining  is,  when  law  becomes  now  too  strait  for 
the  secular  manners,  and  those  too  loose  for  the  cincture  of 
law.  This  brings  in  false  and  crooked  interpretations  to  eke 
out  law,  and  invents  the  subtle  encroachments  of  obscure  tra- 
ditions hard  to  be  disproved.' 

—  Tetrachordon. 

*  If  men  within  themselves  would  be  governed  by  reason, 
and  not  generally  give  up  their  understanding  to  a  double 
tyranny  of  custom  from  without,  and  blind  affections  within, 
they  would  discern  better  what  it  is  to  favour  and  uphold  the 
tyrant  of  a  nation.  But,  being  slaves  within  doors,  no  wonder 
that  they  strive  so  much  to  have  the  public  state  conformably 
governed  to  the  inward  vicious  rule  by  which  they  govern 
themselves.  For,  indeed,  none  can  love  freedom  heartily  but 
jgpod  men ;  the  rest  love  not  freedom  but  licence,  which  never 
hath  more  scope  or  more  indulgence  than  under  tyrants. 
Hence  is  it  that  tyrants  are  not  oft  offended,  nor  stand  much 
in  doubt  of  bad  men,  as  being  all  naturally  servile;  but  in 
whom  virtue  and  true  worth  most  is  eminent,  them  they  fear_ 
in  earnest,  as  by  right  their  masters  ;  against  them  lies  all  their 
hatred  and  suspicion.  Consequently,  neither  do  bad  men  hate 
tyrants,  but  have  been  always  readiest,  with  the  falsified  names 
of  loyalty  and  obedience,  to  colour  over  their  base  compli- 
ances.' 

—  The  Tenure  of  Kings  and  Magistrates. 

1  He  who  reigns  within  himself,  and  rules  passions,  desires, 
and  fears,  is  more  than  a  king.' 

1  For  stories  teach  us,  that  liberty  sought  out  of  season,  in 
a  corrupt  and  degenerate  age,  brought  Rome  itself  to  a  further 
slavery ;  for  liberty  hath  a  sharp  and  double  edge,  fit  only  to 
be  handled  by  just  and  virtuous  men;  to  bad  and  dissolute, 
it  becomes  a  mischief  unwieldy  in  their  own  hands :  neither 
1 


114  MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY 

is  it  completely  given,  but  by  them  who  have  the  happy  skill 
to  know  what  is  grievance  and  unjust  to  a  people,  and  how 
to  remove  it  wisely ;  what  good  laws  are  wanting,  and  how  to 
frame  them  substantially,  that  good  men  may  enjoy  the  freedom 
which  they  merit,  and  the  bad,  the  curb  which  they  need.  But 
to  do  this,  and  to  know  these  exquisite  proportions,  the  heroic 
wisdom  which  is  required,  surmounted  far  the  principles  of 
these  narrow  politicians  :  what  wonder  then  if  they  sunk  as 
these  unfortunate  Britons  before  them,  entangled  and  oppressed 
with  things  too  hard  and  generous,  above  their  strain  and 
temper?' 

—  The  History  of  Britain,  Book  iii. 

'But  when  God  hath  decreed  servitude  on  a  sinful  nation, 
fitted  by  their  own  vices  for  no  condition  but  servile,  all  estates 
of  government  are  alike  unable  to  avoid  it.' 

—  The  History  of  Britain,  Book  v. 

Peroration  of  '  The  Second  Defence  of  the  People  of  England' 

'  It  is  of  no  little  consequence,  O  citizens,  by  what  principles 
you  are  governed,  either  in»  acquiring  liberty,  or  in  retaining 
it  when  acquired.)  j  And  unj^s  that  liberty  which  is  of  such  a 
kind  as  arms  can  neither  pfjjire  nor  take  away,  which  alone 
is  the  fruit  of  piety,  of  justice,  of  temperance,  and  unadulter- 
ated virtue,  shall  have  taken  deep  root  in  your  minds  and 
hearts,  there  will  not  long  be  wanting  one  who  will  snatch 
from  you  by  treachery  what  you  have  acquired  by  arms,  j  War 
has  made  many  great  whom  peace  makes  small.  If  after  being 
released  from  the  toils  of  war,  you  neglect  the  arts  of  peace, 
if  your  peace  and  your  liberty  be  a  state  of  warfare,  if  war  be 
your  only  virtue,  the  summit  of  your  praise,  you  will,  believe 
me,  soon  find  peace  the  most  adverse  to  your  interests.  Your 
peace  will  be  only  a  more  distressing  war ;  and  that  which  you 


MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY  1 15 

imagined  liberty  will  prove  the  worst  of  slavery.  Unless  by  the 
means  of  piety,  not  frothy  and  loquacious,  but  operative,  un- 
adulterated, and  sincere,  you  clear  the  horizon  of  the  mind 
from  those  mists  of  superstition  which  arise  from  the  ignorance 
of  true  religion,  you  will  always  have  those  who  will  bend  your 
necks  to  the  yoke  as  if  you  were  brutes,  who,  notwithstanding 
all  your  triumphs,  will  put  you  up  to  the  highest  bidder,  as  if 
you  were  mere  booty  made  in  war ;  and  will  find  an  exuber- 
ant source  of  wealth  in  your  ignorance  and  superstition.  Un- 
less you  will  subjugate  the  propensity  to  avarice,  to  ambition, 
and  sensuality,  and  expel  all  luxury  from  yourselves  and  your 
families,  you  will  find  that  you  have  cherished  a  more  stubborn 
and  intractable  despot  at  home,  than  you  ever  encountered  in 
the  field  ;  and  even  your  very  bowels  will  be  continually  teem- 
ing with  an  intolerable  progeny  of  tyrants.  Let  these  be  the 
first  enemies  whom  you  subdue ;  this  constitutes  the  campaign 
of  peace ;  these  are  triumphs,  difficult  indeed,  but  bloodless ; 
and  far  more  honourable  than  those  trophies  which  are  pur- 
chased only  by  slaughter  and  by  rapine.  Unless  you  are  victors 
in  this  service,  it  is  in  vain  that  you  have  been  victorious  over 
the  despotic  enemy  in  the  field.  For  if  you  think  that  it  is  a 
more  grand,  a  more  beneficial,  or  a  more  wise  policy,  to  invent 
subtle  expedients  for  increasing  the  revenue,  to  multiply  our 
naval  and  military  force,  to  rival  in  craft  the  ambassadors  of 
foreign  states,  to  form  skilful  treaties  and  alliances,  than  to 
administer  unpolluted  justice  to  the  people,  to  redress  the  in- 
jured and  to  succour  the  distressed,  and  speedily  to  restore  to 
every  one  his  own,  you  are  involved  in  a  cloud  of  error ;  and 
too  late  will  you  perceive,  when  the  illusion  of  those  mighty 
benefits  has  vanished,  that  in  neglecting  these,  which  you  now 
think  inferior  considerations,  you  have  only  been  precipitating 
your  own  ruin  and  despair.  The  fidelity  of  enemies  and  allies 
is  frail  and  perishing,  unless  it  be  cemented  by  the  principles 


Il6  MILTON'S  IDEA    OF   TRUE  LIBERTY 

of  justice;  that  wealth  and  those  honours,  which  most  covet, 
readily  change  masters  ;  they  forsake  the  idle,  and  repair  where 
virtue,  where  industry,  where  patience  flourish  most.  Thus 
nation  precipitates  the  downfall  of  nation ;  thus  the  more 
sound  part  of  one  people  subverts  the  more  corrupt ;  thus  you 
obtained  the  ascendant  over  the  royalists.  If  you  plunge  into 
the  same  depravity,  if  you  imitate  their  excesses,  and  hanker 
after  the  same  vanities,  you  will  become  royalists  as  well  as 
they,  and  liable  to  be  subdued  by  the  same  enemies,  or  by 
others  in  your  turn ;  who,  placing  their  reliance  on  the  same 
religious  principles,  the  same  patience,  the  same  integrity  and 
discretion  which  made  you  strong,  will  deservedly  triumph  over 
you  who  are  immersed  in  debauchery,  in  the  luxury  and 
the  sloth  of  kings.  Then,  as  if  God  was  weary  of  protecting 
you,  you  will  be  seen  to  have  passed  through  the  fire  that  you 
might  perish  in  the  smoke ;  the  contempt  which  you  will  then 
experience  will  be  great  as  the  admiration  which  you  now 
enjoy;  and,  what  may  in  future  profit  others,  but  cannot 
benefit  yourselves,  you  will  leave  a  salutary  proof  what  great 
things  the  solid  reality  of  virtue  and  of  piety  might  have 
effected,  when  the  mere  counterfeit  and  varnished  resemblance 
could  attempt  such  mighty  achievements,  and  make  such  con- 
siderable advances  towards  the  execution.  For,  if  either 
through  your  want  of  knowledge,  your  want  of  constancy,  or 
your  want  of  virtue,  attempts  so  noble,  and  actions  so  glorious, 
have  had  an  issue  so  unfortunate,  it  does  not  therefore  follow 
that  better  men  should  be  either  less  daring  in  their  projects 
or  less  sanguine  in  their  hopes.  But  from  such  an  abyss  of 
corruption  into  which  you  so  readily  fall,  no  one,  not  even 
Cromwell  himself,  nor  a  whole  nation  of  Brutuses,  if  they  were 
alive,  could  deliver  you  if  they  would,  or  would  deliver  you  if 
they  could.  For  who  would  vindicate  your  right  of  unrestrained 
suffrage,  or  of  choosing  what  representatives  you  liked  best, 


MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY  W] 

merely  that  you  might  elect  the  creatures  of  your  own  faction, 
whoever  they  might  be,  or  him,  however  small  might  be  his 
worth,  who  would  give  you  the  most  lavish  feasts,  and  enable 
you  to  drink  to  the  greatest  excess?  Thus  not  wisdom  and 
authority,  but  turbulence  and  gluttony,  would  soon  exalt  the 
vilest  miscreants  from  our  taverns  and  our  brothels,  from  our 
towns  and  villages,  to  the  rank  and  dignity  of  senators.  For 
should  the  management  of  the  republic  be  entrusted  to  persons 
to  whom  no  one  would  willingly  entrust  the  management  of  his 
private  concerns ;  and  the  treasury  of  the  state  be  left  to  the 
care  of  those  who  had  lavished  their  own  fortunes  in  an  infa- 
mous prodigality?  Should  they  have  the  charge  of  the  public 
purse,  which  they  would  soon  convert  into  a  private,  by  their 
unprincipled  peculations  ?  Are  they  fit  to  be  the  legislators  of 
a  whole  people  who  themselves  know  not  what  law,  what  reason, 
what  right  and  wrong,  what  crooked  and  straight,  what  licit  and 
illicit  means?  who  think  that  all  power  consists  in  outrage,  all 
dignity  in  the  parade  of  insolence?  who  neglect  every  other 
consideration  for  the  corrupt  qualification  of  their  friendships, 
or  the  prosecution  of  their  resentments?  who  disperse  their 
own  relations  and  creatures  through  the  provinces,  for  the  sake 
of  levying  taxes  and  confiscating  goods ;  men,  for  the  greater 
part,  the  most  profligate  and  vile,  who  buy  up  for  themselves 
what  they  pretend  to  expose  to  sale,  who  thence  collect  an 
exorbitant  mass  of  wealth,  which  they  fraudulently  divert  from 
the  public  service ;  who  thus  spread  their  pillage  through  the 
country,  and  in  a  moment  emerge  from  penury  and  rags  to  a 
state  of  splendour  and  of  wealth?  Who  could  endure  such 
thievish  servants,  such  vicegerents  of  their  lords  ?  Who  could 
believe  that  the  masters  and  the  patrons  of  a  banditti  could  be 
the  proper  guardians  of  liberty  ?  or  who  would  suppose  that  he 
should  ever  be  made  one  hair  more  free  by  such  a  set  of  pub- 
lic functionaries,  (though  they  might  amount  to  five  hundred 


Il8  MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY 

elected  in  this  manner  from  the  counties  and  boroughs,)  when 
among  them  who  are  the  very  guardians  of  liberty,  and  to  whose 
custody  it  is  committed,  there  must  be  so  many,  who  know  not 
either  how  to  use  or  to  enjoy  liberty,  who  neither  understand 
the  principles  nor  merit  the  possession?  But,  what  is  worthy 
of  remark,  those  who  are  the  most  unworthy  of  liberty  are  wont 
to  behave  most  ungratefully  towards  their  deliverers.  Among 
such  persons,  who  would  be  willing  either  to  fight  for  liberty, 
or  to  encounter  the  least  peril  in  its  defence  ?  It  is  not  agree- 
able to  the  nature  of  things  that  such  persons  ever  should  be 
free.  However  much  they  may  brawl  about  liberty,  they  are 
slaves,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  but  without  perceiving  it ; 
and  when  they  do  perceive  it,  like  unruly  horses  that  are  im- 
patient of  the  bit,  they  will  endeavour  to  throw  off  the  yoke, 
not  from  the  love  of  genuine  liberty,  (which  a  good  man  only 
loves  and  knows  how  to  obtain,)  but  from  the  impulses  of  pride 
and  little  passions.  But  though  they  often  attempt  it  by  arms, 
they  will  make  no  advances  to  the  execution ;  they  may  change 
their  masters,  but  will  never  be  able  to  get  rid  of  their  servi- 
tude. This  often  happened  to  the  ancient  Romans,  wasted  by 
excess,  and  enervated  by  luxury  :  and  it  has  still  more  so  been 
the  fate  of  the  moderns ;  when,  after  a  long  interval  of  years, 
they  aspired,  under  the  auspices  of  Crescentius  Nomentanus, 
and  afterwards  of  Nicolas  Rentius,  who  had  assumed  the  title 
of  Tribune  of  the  People,  to  restore  the  splendour  and  rees- 
tablish the  government  of  ancient  Rome.  For,  instead  of  fret- 
ting with  vexation,  or  thinking  that  you  can  lay  the  blame  on 
any  one  but  yourselves,  know  that  to  be  free  is  the  same  thing 
as  to  be  pious,  to  be  wise,  to  be  temperate  and  just,  to  be  fru- 
gal and  abstinent,  and,  lastly,  to  be  magnanimous  and  brave  j 
so  to  be  the  opposite  of  all  these  is  the  same  as  to  be  a  slave ; 
and  it  usually  happens,  by  the  appointment,  and  as  it  were 
retributive  justice,  of  the  Deity,  that  that  people  which  cannot 


MILTON'S  IDEA    OF   TRUE  LIBERTY  119 

govern  themselves,  and  moderate  their  passions,  but  crouch 
under  the  slavery  of  their  lusts,  should  be  delivered  up  to  the 
sway  of  those  whom  they  abhor,  and  made  to  submit  to  an 
involuntary  servitude.  It  is  also  sanctioned  by  the  dictates  of 
justice  and  by  the  constitution  of  nature,  that  he  who  from  the 
imbecility  or  derangement  of  his  intellect,  is  incapable  of  gov- 
erning himself,  should,  like  a  minor,  be  committed  to  the  gov- 
ernment of  another  j  and  least  of  all  should  he  be  appointed 
to  superintend  the  affairs  of  others  or  the  interest  of  the  state. 
You,  therefore,  who  wish  to  remain  free,  either  instantly  be 
wise,  or,  as  soon  as  possible,  cease  to  be  fools ;  if  you  think 
slavery  an  intolerable  evil,  learn  obedience  to  reason  and  the 
government  of  yourselves ;  and,  finally,  bid  adieu  to  your  dis- 
sensions, your  jealousies,  your  superstitions,  your  outrages,  your 
rapine,  and  your  lusts.  Unless  you  will  spare  no  pains  to  effect 
this,  you  must  be  judged  unfit,  both  by  God  and  mankind,  to 
be  entrusted  with  the  possession  of  liberty  and  the  adminis- 
tration of  the  government ;  but  will  rather,  like  a  nation  in  a 
state  of  pupilage,  want  some  active  and  courageous  guardian  to 
undertake  the  management  of  your  affairs.  With  respect  to 
myself,  whatever  turn  things  may  take,  I  thought  that  my  exer- 
tions on  the  present  occasion  would  be  serviceable  to  my 
country ;  and,  as  they  have  been  cheerfully  bestowed,  I  hope 
that  they  have  not  been  bestowed  in  vain.  And  I  have  not 
circumscribed  my  defence  of  liberty  within  any  petty  circle 
around  me,  but  have  made  it  so  general  and  comprehensive, 
that  the  justice  and  the  reasonableness  of  such  uncommon 
occurrences,  explained  and  defended,  both  among  my  country- 
men and  among  foreigners,  and  which  all  good  men  cannot  but 
approve,  may  serve  to  exalt  the  glory  of  my  country,  and  to 
excite  the  imitation  of  posterity.  If  the  conclusion  do  not 
answer  to  the  beginning,  that  is  their  concern  \  I  have  delivered 
my  testimony,  I  would  almost  say,  have  erected  a  monument, 


120  MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY 

that  will  not  readily  be  destroyed,  to  the  reality  of  those  singu- 
lar and  mighty  achievements  which  were  above  all  praise.  As 
the  epic  poet,  who  adheres  at  all  to  the  rules  of  that  species  of 
composition,  does  not  profess  to  describe  the  whole  life  of  the 
hero  whom  he  celebrates,  but  only  some  particular  action  of 
his  life,  as  the  resentment  of  Achilles  at  Troy,  the  return  of 
Ulysses,  or  the  coming  of  ^Eneas  into  Italy ;  so  it  will  be  suffi- 
cient, either  for  my  justification  or  apology,  that  I  have  heroi- 
cally celebrated  at  least  one  exploit  of  my  countrymen ;  I  pass 
by  the  rest,  for  who  could  recite  the  achievements  of  a  whole 
people  ?  If,  after  such  a  display  of  courage  and  of  vigour,  you 
basely  relinquish  the  path  of  virtue,  if  you  do  anything  un- 
worthy of  yourselves,  posterity  will  sit  in  judgment  on  your 
conduct.  They  will  see  that  the  foundations  were  well  laid; 
that  the  beginning  (nay,  it  was  more  than  a  beginning)  was 
glorious ;  but  with  deep  emotions  of  concern  will  they  regret, 
that  those  were  wanting  who  might  have  completed  the  struc- 
ture. They  will  lament  that  perseverance  was  not  conjoined 
with  such  exertions  and  such  virtues.  They  will  see  that  there 
was  a  rich  harvest  of  glory,  and  an  opportunity  afforded  for  the 
greatest  achievements,  but  that  men  only  were  wanting  for  the 
execution ;  while  they  were  not  wanting  who  could  rightly 
counsel,  exhort,  inspire,  and  bind  an  unfading  wreath  of  praise 
round  the  brows  of  the  illustrious  actors  in  so  glorious  a  scene.' 

This  informing  idea  of  the  Prose  Works  comes   out  ex- 
plicitly in  the  second  of  the  sonnets, 

On  the  Detraction  which  followed  upon  my  Writing  Certain 

Treatises 

1 1  did  but  prompt  the  age  to  quit  their  clogs 
By  the  known  rules  of  ancient  liberty, 
When  straight  a  barbarous  noise  environs  me 


MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY  121 

Of  owls  and  cuckoos,  asses,  apes,  and  dogs  : 

As  when  those  hinds  that  were  transformed  to  frogs  5 

Railed  at  Latona's  twin-born  progeny, 

Which  after  held  the  sun  and  moon  in  fee. 

But  this  is  got  by  casting  pearl  to  hogs, 

That  bawl  for  freedom  in  their  senseless  mood, 

And  still  revolt  when  truth  would  set  them  free.  10 

Licence  they  mean  when  they  cry  liberty  j 

For  who  loves  that  must  first  be  wise  and  good ; 

But  from  that  mark  how  far  they  rove  we  see, 

For  all  this  waste  of  wealth,  and  loss  of  blood.' 

Again  it  appears,  and  in  the  most  explicit  form,  in  the  '  Para- 
dise Lost/  Book  xii.  82-101.  The  angel  Michael,  in  his 
discourse  with  Adam,  on  the  mount  of  speculation,  says : 

'  yet  know  withal, 
Since  thy  original  lapse,  true  liberty 
Is  lost,  which  always  with  right  reason  dwells 
Twinned,  and  from  her  hath  no  dividual  being.  85 

Reason  in  man  obscured,  or  not  obeyed, 
Immediately  inordinate  desires 
And  upstart  passions  catch  the  government 
From  Reason,  and  to  servitude  reduce 
Man,  till  then  free.     Therefore,  since  he  permits  90 

Within  himself  unworthy  powers  to  reign 
Over  free  reason,  God,  in  judgment  just, 
Subjects  him  from  without  to  violent  lords, 
Who  oft  as  undeservedly  enthral 

His  outward  freedom.     Tyranny  must  be,  95 

Though  to  the  tyrant  thereby  no  excuse. 
Yet  sometimes  nations  will  decline  so  low 
From  virtue,  which  is  reason,  that  no  wrong, 


122  MILTON'S  IDEA    OF   TRUE  LIBERTY 

But  justice  and  some  fatal  curse  annexed, 

Deprives  them  of  their  outward  liberty,  ioo 

Their  inward  lost.' 

In  the  '  Samson  Agonistes,'  Samson  says  to  the  Chorus  (vv. 
268-276,  and  here  Milton  may  be  said  virtually  to  speak,  as  he 
does  throughout  the  drama,  in  propria  persona)  : 

'  But  what  more  oft,  in  nations  grown  corrupt 
And  by  their  vices  brought  to  servitude, 
Than  to  love  bondage  more  than  liberty,  270 

Bondage  with  ease  than  strenuous  liberty ; 
And  to  despise,  or  envy,  or  suspect 
Whom  God  hath  of  his  special  favour  raised 
As  their  deliverer  ?     if  he  aught  begin, 
How  frequent  to  desert  him,  and  at  last  275 

To  heap  ingratitude  on  worthiest  deeds  ? ' 

In  the  '  Paradise  Regained,'  Book  ii.  410-486,  Satan  says 
to  the  Saviour : 

1  all  thy  heart  is  set  on  high  designs,  410 

High  actions  ;  but  wherewith  to  be  achieved  ? 
Great  acts  require  great  means  of  enterprise ; 
Thou  art  unknown,  unfriended,  low  of  birth, 
A  carpenter  thy  father  known,  thyself 
Bred  up  in  poverty  and  straits  at  home,  415 

Lost  in  a  desert  here;  and  hunger-bit. 
Which  way,  or  from  what  hope,  dost  thou  aspire 
To  greatness?  whence  authority  derivest? 
What  followers,  what  retinue  canst  thou  gain? 
Or  at  thy  heels  the  dizzy  multitude,  420 

Longer  than  thou  canst  feed  them  on  thy  cost  ? 


MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY  1 23 

Money  brings  honour,  friends,  conquest,  and  realms. 

What  raised  Antipater,  the  Edomite, 

And  his  son  Herod  placed  on  Judah's  throne  — 

Thy  throne  —  but  gold  that  got  him  puissant  friends?  425 

Therefore,  if  at  great  things  thou  wouldest  arrive, 

Get  riches  first,  get  wealth,  and  treasure  heap,  — 

Not  difficult,  if  thou  hearken  to  me. 

Riches  are  mine,  fortune  is  in  my  hand ; 

They  whom  I  favour  thrive  in  wealth  amain,  430 

While  virtue,  valour,  wisdom,  sit  in  want.' 

To  whom  thus  Jesus  patiently  replied  : 

*  Yet  wealth  without  these  three  is  impotent 

To  gain  dominion,  or  to  keep  it  gained ; 

Witness  those  ancient  empires  of  the  earth,  435 

In  highth  of  all  their  flowing  wealth  dissolved. 

But  men  endued  with  these  have  oft  attained 

In  lowest  poverty  to  highest  deeds ; 

Gideon,  and  Jephtha,  and  the  shepherd-lad, 

Whose  offspring  on  the  throne  of  Judah  sat  440 

So  many  ages,  and  shalt  yet  regain 

That  seat,  and  reign  in  Israel  without  end. 

Among  the  Heathen —  for  throughout  the  world 

To  me  is  not  unknown  what  hath  been  done 

Worthy  of  memorial — canst  thou  not  remember  445 

Quintius,  Fabricius,  Curius,  Regulus? 

For  I  esteem  those  names  of  men  so  poor, 

Who  could  do  mighty  things,  and  could  contemn 

Riches,  though  offered  from  the  hand  of  kings. 

And  what  in  me  seems  wanting,  but  that  I  450 

May  also  in  this  poverty  as  soon 

Accomplish  what  they  did  ?  perhaps  and  more. 

Extol  not  riches  then,  the  toil  of  fools, 

The  wise  man's  cumbrance,  if  not  snare  ;  more  apt 


124  MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY 

To  slacken  Virtue,  and  abate  her  edge,  455 

Than  prompt  her  to  do  aught  may  merit  praise. 

What,  if  with  like  aversion  I  reject 

Riches  and  realms  !  yet  not,  for  that  a  crown, 

Golden  in  shew,  is  but  a  wreath  of  thorns, 

Brings  dangers,  troubles,  cares,  and  sleepless  nights,     460 

To  him  who  wears  the  regal  diadem, 

When  on  his  shoulders  each  man's  burden  lies ; 

For  therein  stands  the  office  of  a  king, 

His  honour,  virtue,  merit,  and  chief  praise, 

That  for  the  public  all  this  weight  he  bears.  465 

et  he  who  reigns  within  himself,  and  rules 
Passions,  desires,  and  fears,  is  more  a  king ; 
Which  every  wise  and  virtuous  man  attains  : 
And  who  attains  not,  ill  aspires  to  rule 
Cities  of  men,  or  headstrong  multitudes,  470 

Subject  himself  to  anarchy  within, 
Or  lawless  passions  in  him,  which  he  serves. 
But  to  guide  nations  in  the  way  of  truth 
By  saving  doctrine,  and  from  error  lead 
To  know,  and  knowing,  worship  God  aright,  475 

Is  yet  more  kingly :  this  attracts  the  soul, 
Governs  the  inner  man,  the  nobler  part ; 
That  other  o'er  the  body  only  reigns, 
And  oft  by  force,  which  to  a  generous  mind 
So  reigning  can  be  no  sincere  delight.  480 

Besides,  to  give  a  kingdom  hath  been  thought 
Greater  and  nobler  done,  and  to  lay  down 
Far  more  magnanimous,  than  to  assume. 
Riches  are  needless  then,  both  for  themselves, 
And  for  thy  reason  why  they  should  be  sought,  485 

To  gain  a  sceptre,  oftest  better  missed.' 


fcs.- 


MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY  1 25 

All  this,  it  may  be  truly  said,  is  nothing  more  than  the  old 
teaching  of  Solomon,  '  He  that  ruleth  his  spirit  is  better  than 
he  that  taketh  a  city'  (Prov.  xvi.  32).  There  has  always  been 
truth  enough  in  the  world  which,  if  realized  in  men's  lives, 
would  soon  bring  about  the  millennium.  But,  unfortunately, 
it  has  only  been  born  in  their  brains. 

Great  writers  owe  their  power  among  men,  not  necessarily 
so  much  to  a  wide  range  of  ideas  or  to  the  originality  of  their 
ideas,  as  to  the  vitality  which  they  are  able  to  impart  to  some 
one  comprehensive  fructifying  idea  with  which,  through  consti- 
tution of  mind,  or  circumstances,  they  have  become  possessed. 
It  is  only  when  a  man  is  really  possessed  with  an  idea  (that 
is,  if  it  does  not  run  away  with  him),  that  he  can  express 
it  with  a  quickening  power,  and  ring  all  possible  changes 
upon  it. 

The  passages  quoted  sufficiently  show  the  kind  of  liberty 
which  Milton  estimated  above  all  others,  and  to  the  advance- 
ment of  which  he  devoted  his  best  powers,  for  twenty  years, 
and  those  years  the  best,  generally,  of  a  man's  life,  for  intel- 
lectual and  creative  work,  namely,  from  thirty-two  to  fifty- two. 
The  last  eight  of  those  years  he  worked  in  total  darkness,  not 
bating  a  jot  of  heart  or  hope,  sustained  by  the  consciousness 
of  having  lost  his  eyes  '  overplied  in  Liberty's  defence  '  —  '  the 
glorious  liberty,'  more  especially,  '  of  the  children  of  God,'  ■  the 
liberty  wherewith  Christ  hath  made  us  free,'  without  which, 
outward  liberty  he  regarded  as  a  temptation  and  a  snare. 

In  addition  to  the  absolute  merit  attaching  to  his  labors  in 
the  cause  of  liberty,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  he  turned 
aside  with  a  heroic  self-denial,  during  all  those  years  of  his 
manhood's  prime,  from  what  he  had,  from  his  early  years  up, 
felt  himself  dedicated  to,  and  toward  fitting  himself  for  the 
accomplishment  of  which,  he  had,  with  an  unflagging  ardoiy 
trained  and  marshalled  all  his  faculties.  X 


sjr 


126        '  COM  US 


COMUS 


A  Masque  presented  at  Ludlow  Castle,  1634,  before  the  Earl 
of  Bridgewater,  then  President  of  Wales 

Masques,  in  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth,  James  L,  and  Charles  I., 
were  generally  written  for  the  entertainment  of  royalty  and 
nobility.  They  were,  besides,  in  most  cases,  presented  by 
royal  and  noble  persons.  In  their  setting,  they  were  in  strong 
contrast  to  the  public  drama  of  the  day,  got  up,  as  they  were, 
with  great  magnificence  of  architecture,  scenery,  and  '  apparel- 
ing' (Ben  Jonson's  word  for  the  apparatus  of  the  scene),  and 
frequently  at  an  enormous  expense.  They  were  generally  offset 
by  grotesque  and  comic  antimasques,  which  were  played  by 
common  actors,  dancers,  and  buffoons,  from  the  public  theatres. 
Shakespeare's  ■  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  ■  was  probably  not 
written  as  a  regular  drama  for  the  public  stage,  but  as  a 
masque,  on  the  occasion  of  some  noble  marriage.  *  The  most 
lamentable  comedy  and  most  cruel  death  of  Pyramus  and 
Thisbe '  presented  by  the  '  rude  mechanicals,'  '  hard-handed 
men,'  in  the  fifth  act,  is  the  antimasque.  It  offsets  the 
Masque  in  a  special  way.  The  Masque  makes  great  demands 
on  the  imagination  in  its  presentation  of  the  fairy  world ;  the 
antimasque  is  absurdly  realistic  —  nothing  is  left  by  the  'rude 
mechanicals '  to  the  imagination. 

The  Masque  of  '  Comus '  is  the  last  notable,  if  not  entirely 
the  last,  composition  of  the  kind  in  English  literature,  and  the 
loftiest  and  loveliest.  It  is  a  glorification  of  the  power  of 
purity  and  chastity  over  the  impure  and  the  unchaste ;  and  the 
poet  no  doubt  meant  it  as  a  reflection  upon  the  license  and 
excesses  and  revelries  (of  which  Comus  is  a  personification)  of 
the  profligate  and  extravagant  court  of  the  time,  imported  from 


COM  US  12/ 

'Celtic  and  Iberian  fields.'  The  now  obvious  attitude  of  the 
composition  was  perhaps  not  at  all  suspected  when  it  was  per- 
formed at  Ludlow  Castle. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  Masque  of '  Comus '  that  is  even  sug- 
gestive of  the  antimasque  of  the  earlier  masques,  unless  it  be 
where  the  Country  Dancers  come  in  before  the  entrance  of  the 
Attendant  Spirit  with  the  two  Brothers  and  the  Lady,  who 
catch  the  dancers  at  their  sport.  The  Attendant  Spirit  ad- 
dresses them  in  the  song  (vv.  958-965) : 

'  Back,  shepherds,  back  !     Enough  your  play 
Till  next  sunshine  holiday. 
Here  be,  without  duck  or  nod, 
Other  trippings  to  be  trod 
Of  lighter  toes,'  etc. 

The  subject  of  -  Comus  '  was  too  serious  to  be  offset  or  parodied 
in  any  way  by  an  antimasque;  and,  furthermore,  Milton  was 
not  the  man  for  anything  of  the  kind.  His  theme  excluded  all 
humor,  even  if  he  had  had  any  to  expend  upon  it.  Its  seri- 
ousness must  have  been  deepened  for  him  by  what  he  no 
doubt  already  felt  in  regard  to  the  Court  and  the  Church, 
that  both  were  corrupt,  and  that  both  were  leagued  in  their 
despotic  tendencies,  or  rather  in  their  actual  despotic 
characters. 

The  traditional  story  that  the  two  sons  of  the  Earl  of  Bridge- 
water,  the  Lord  Brackley  and  Mr.  Thomas  Egerton,  and  their 
sister,  the  Lady  Alice  Egerton,  were  lost  in  Haywood  Forest 
on  their  way  to  Ludlow  Castle  from  Herefordshire,  where  they 
had  been  visiting  their  relatives,  the  Egertons,  and  that  the 
Lady  Alice  was  for  a  time  separated  from  her  brothers,  they 
having  gone  to  discover  the  right  path,  may  have  had  its  origin 
in  the  Masque.  This  seems  more  likely  than  that  the  Masque 
had  its  origin  in  the  story. 


128  COM  US 

In  the  talk  of  the  two  Brothers  in  regard  to  their  lost  sister, 
the  idea  of  the  Masque  is  explicitly  presented  by  the  elder 
Brother.     He  had  said  : 

1  My  sister  is  not  so  defenceless  left 
As  you  imagine  ;  she  has  a  hidden  strength 
Which  you  remember  not.' 

The  second  Brother  replies  : 

1  What  hidden  strength, 
Unless  the  strength  of  Heaven,  if  you  mean  that  ? ' 

And  then  the  elder  Brother  gives  expression,  in  a  long 
speech,  the  gem  of  the  Masque  (vv.  418-475),  to  the  power  of 
chastity  and  purity  over  the  unchaste  and  the  impure. 

In  the  service  of  this  idea,  the  poet  started,  no  doubt,  with 
Comus,  the  personification  of  unchaste  and  impure  revelry 
(koo/xos),  and  therefrom  constructed  his  plot,  in  which  a  pure 
maiden  is  brought  within  range  of  the  wiles  and  temptations  of 
the  enchanter.  And  as  the  daughter  of  the  noble  family  for 
which  the  Masque  was  written  was  to  play  the  part  of  the 
tempted  maiden,  in  the  presentation  of  the  Masque,  the  inci- 
dent of  her  being  temporarily  and  necessarily  left  alone  by  her 
brothers  in  the  forest,  would  be  readily  suggested  to  the  poet. 
It  afforded  him,  too,  an  opportunity  of  paying  a  high  compli- 
ment to  the  children  of  the  Earl  of  Bridgewater. 

The  traditional  story  may  therefore  be  safely  regarded  as 
a  figment. 

Henry  Lawes,  the  most  prominent  music  teacher  of  the 
time,  in  noble  and  wealthy  families,  and  with  a  high  reputation 
as  a  musical  composer,  furnished  the  music  for  the  Masque, 
and  took  the  part  of  the  Attendant  Spirit,  first  appearing  as 
such,  and  afterward  in  the  guise  of  the  old  and  faithful  shep- 


COM  US  1 29 

herd  Thyrsis.  It  is  not  known  by  whom  the  parts  of  Comus 
and  Sabrina  were  taken. 

Lawes  had  been  one  of  Milton's  musical  friends  from  early 
boyhood. 

Milton  addressed  the  following  sonnet  to  him,  which  was 
prefixed  to  '  Choice  Psalmes  ...  by  Henry  and  William  Lawes, 
brothers,  1648.'  In  Milton's  volume  of  poems  published  in 
1645,  Lawes  is  represented  as  'Gentleman  of  the  king's 
chapel  and  one  of  His  Majesty's  private  music.' 


To  Mr.  H.  Lawes,  on  his  Airs  (1646) 

*  Harry,  whose  tuneful  and  well-measured  song 
First  taught  our  English  music  how  to  span 
Words  with  just  note  and  accent,  not  to  scan 
With  Midas'  ears,  committing  short  and  long, 
Thy  worth  and  skill  exempts  thee  from  the  throng,        5 
With  praise  enough  for  envy  to  look  wan ; 
To  after-age  thou  shalt  be  writ  the  man, 
That  with  smooth  air  could  humour  best  our  tongue. 
Thou  honourest  verse,  and  verse  must  lend  her  wing 
To  honour  thee,  the  priest  of  Phcebus'  quire,  10 

That  tunest  their  happiest  lines  in  hymn  or  story. 
Dante  shall  give  fame  leave  to  set  thee  higher 
Than  his  Casella,  whom  he  wooed  to  sing, 
Met  in  the  milder  shades  of  Purgatory.' 


tso 


COMUS 


THE   PERSONS 

The  Attendant  Spirit,  afterward  in  the  habit  of  Thyrsis. 
Comus,  with  his  Crew. 
The  Lady. 
First  Brother. 
Second  Brother. 
Sabrina,  the  Nymph. 
The  Chief  Persons  which  presented  were : 

The  Lord  Brackley; 

Mr.  Thomas  Egerton,  his  Brother; 

The  Lady  Alice  Egerton. 


COM  US  1 3 1 

The  First  Scene  discovers  a  Wild  Wood. 

The  Attendant  Spirit  descends  or  enters. 

Before  the  starry  threshold  of  Jove's  court 
My  mansion  is,  where  those  immortal  shapes 
Of  bright  aerial  spirits  live  insphered 
In  regions  mild  of  calm  and  serene  air, 
Above  the  smoke  and  stir  of  this  dim  spot  5 

Which  men  call  Earth,  and,  with  low-thoughted  care, 
Confined  and  pestered  in  this  pinfold  here, 
Strive  to  keep  up  a  frail  and  feverish  being, 
Unmindful  of  the  crown  that  virtue  gives, 
After  this  mortal  change,  to  her  true  servants,  10 

Amongst  the  enthroned  Gods  on  sainted  seats. 
Yet  some  there  be  that  by  due  steps  aspire 
To  lay  their  just  hands  on  that  golden  key 
That  opes  the  palace  of  eternity. 

To  such  my  errand  is ;  and,  but  for  such,  15 

I  would  not  soil  these  pure  ambrosial  weeds 
With  the  rank  vapours  of  this  sin-worn  mould. 
But  to  my  task.     Neptune,  besides  the  sway 
Of  every  salt  flood  and  each  ebbing  stream, 
Took  in  by  lot,  'twixt  high  and  nether  Jove,  20 

Imperial  rule  of  all  the  sea-girt  isles 
That,  like  to  rich  and  various  gems,  inlay 
The  unadorned  bosom  of  the  deep ; 
Which  he,  to  grace  his  tributary  gods, 
By  course  commits  to  several  government,  25 

And  gives  them  leave  to  wear  their  sapphire  crowns 
And  wield  their  little  tridents.     But  this  Isle, 
The  greatest  and  the  best  of  all  the  main, 


132 


COMUS 

He  quarters  to  his  blue-haired  deities ; 

And  all  this  tract  that  fronts  the  falling  sun  30 

A  noble  Peer  of  mickle  trust  and  power 

Has  in  his  charge,  with  tempered  awe  to  guide 

An  old  and  haughty  nation  proud  in  arms : 

Where  his  fair  offspring,  nursed  in  princely  lore, 

Are  coming  to  attend  their  father's  state,  ,35 

And  new-intrusted  sceptre.     But  their  way 

Lies  through  the  perplexed  paths  of  this  drear  wood, 

The  nodding  horror  of  whose  shady  brows 

Threats  the  forlorn  and  wandering  passenger; 

And  here  their  tender  age  might  suffer  peril,  40 

But  that,  by  quick  command  from  sovran  Jove, 

I  was  despatched  for  their  defence  and  guard. 

And  listen  why ;  for  I  will  tell  you  now 

What  never  yet  was  heard  in  tale  or  song, 

From  old  or  modern  bard,  in  hall  or  bower.  45 

Bacchus,  that  first  from  out  the  purple  grape 
Crushed  the  sweet  poison  of  misused  wine, 
After  the  Tuscan  mariners  transformed, 
Coasting  the  Tyrrhene  shore,  as  the  winds  listed, 
On  Circe's  island  fell.     (Who  knows  not  Circe,  50 

The  daughter  of  the  Sun,  whose  charmed  cup 
Whoever  tasted  lost  his  upright  shape, 
And  downward  fell  into  a  grovelling  swine  ?) 
This  Nymph,  that  gazed  upon  his  clustering  locks, 
With  ivy  berries  wreathed,  and  his  blithe  youth,  55 

Had  by  him,  ere  he  parted  thence,  a  son 
Much  like  his  father,  but  his  mother  more, 
Whom  therefore  she  brought  up,  and  Comus  named : 
Who,  ripe,  and  frolic  of  his  full-grown  age, 
Roving  the  Celtic  and  Iberian  fields,  60 

At  last  betakes  him  to  this  ominous  wood, 


COM  US  133 

And,  in  thick  shelter  of  black  shades  imbowered, 

Excels  his  mother  at  her  mighty  art, 

Offering  to  every  weary  traveller 

His  orient  liquor  in  a  crystal  glass,  65 

To  quench  the  drouth  of  Phoebus ;  which  as  they  taste 

(For  most  do  taste  through  fond  intemperate  thirst), 

Soon  as  the  potion  works,  their  human  count'nance, 

The  express  resemblance  of  the  gods,  is  changed 

Into  some  brutish  form  of  wolf  or  bear,  70 

Or  ounce,  or  tiger,  hog,  or  bearded  goat, 

All  other  parts  remaining  as  they  were. 

And  they,  so  perfect  is  their  misery, 

Not  once  perceive  their  foul  disfigurement, 

But  boast  themselves  more  comely  than  before,  75 

And  all  their  friends  and  native  home  forget, 

To  roll  with  pleasure  in  a  sensual  sty. 

Therefore,  when  any  favoured  of  high  Jove 

Chances  to  pass  through  this  adventurous  glade, 

Swift  as  the  sparkle  of  a  glancing  star  80 

I  shoot  from  heaven,  to  give  him  safe  convoy, 

As  now  I  do.     But  first  I  must  put  off 

These  my  sky  robes,  spun  out  of  Iris'  woof, 

And  take  the  weeds  and  likeness  of  a  swain 

That  to  the  service  of  this  house  belongs,  85 

Who,  with  his  soft  pipe,  and  smooth-dittied  song, 

Well  knows  to  still  the  wild  winds  when  they  roar, 

And  hush  the  waving  woods ;  nor  of  less  faith, 

And  in  this  office  of  his  mountain  watch 

Likeliest,  and  nearest  to  the  present  aid  90 

Of  this  occasion.    But  I  hear  the  tread 

Of  hateful  steps  j  I  must  be  viewless  now. 


1 34  comus 


Comus  enters,  with  a  charming  rod  in  one  hand,  his  glass  in 
the  other;  with  him  a  rout  of  monsters,  headed  like  sundry 
sorts  of  wild  beasts,  but  otherwise  like  men  and  women,  their 
apparel  glistering.  They  come  in  making  a  riotous  and 
unruly  noise,  with  torches  in  their  hands. 

Comus.  The  star  that  bids  the  shepherd  fold 
Now  the  top  of  heaven  doth  hold ; 

And  the  gilded  car  of  day  95 

His  glowing  axle  doth  allay 
In  the  steep  Atlantic  stream ; 
And  the  slope  sun  his  upward  beam 
Shoots  against  the  dusky  pole, 

Pacing  toward  the  other  goal  100 

Of  his  chamber  in  the  east. 
Meanwhile,  welcome  joy  and  feast, 
Midnight  shout  and  revelry, 
Tipsy  dance  and  jollity. 

Braid  your  locks  with  rosy  twine,  105 

Dropping  odours,  dropping  wine. 
Rigour  now  is  gone  to  bed ; 
And  Advice  with  scrupulous  head, 
Strict  Age,  and  sour  Severity, 

With  their  grave  saws,  in  slumber  lie.  no 

We,  that  are  of  purer  fire, 
Imitate  the  starry  quire, 
Who,  in  their  nightly  watchful  spheres, 
Lead  in  swift  round  the  months  and  years. 
The  sounds  and  seas,  with  all  their  finny  drove,  115 

Now  to  the  moon  in  wavering  morrice  move ; 
And  on  the  tawny  sands  and  shelves 
Trip  the  pert  fairies  and  the  dapper  elves. 


COMUS  135 

By  dimpled  brook  and  fountain-brim, 

The  wood-nymphs,  decked  with  daisies  trim,  120 

Their  merry  wakes  and  pastimes  keep ; 

What  hath  night  to  do  with  sleep  ? 

Night  hath  better  sweets  to  prove ; 

Venus  now  wakes,  and  wakens  Love. 

Come,  let  us  our  rites  begin,  125 

—  'Tis  only  daylight  that  makes  sin  — 

Which  these  dun  shades  will  ne'er  report. 

Hail,  goddess  of  nocturnal  sport, 

Dark-veiled  Cotytto,  to  whom  the  secret  flame 

Of  midnight  torches  burns  !  mysterious  dame,  '130 

That  ne'er  art  called  but  when  the  dragon  womb 

Of  Stygian  darkness  spets  her  thickest  gloom, 

And  makes  one  blot  of  all  the  air  ! 

Stay  thy  cloudy  ebon  chair, 

Wherein  thou  ridest  with  Hecat',  and  befriend  135 

Us  thy  vowed  priests,  till  utmost  end 

Of  all  thy  dues  be  done,  and  none  left  out ; 

Ere  the  blabbing  eastern  scout, 

The  nice  Morn  on  the  Indian  steep, 

From  her  cabined  loop-hole  peep,  140 

And  to  the  tell-tale  Sun  descry 

Our  concealed  solemnity. 

Come,  knit  hands,  and  beat  the  ground 

In  a  light  fantastic  round. 

The  Measure. 

Break  off,  break  off!  I  feel  the  different  pace  145 

Of  some  chaste  footing  near  about  this  ground. 
Run  to  your  shrouds  within  these  brakes  and  trees ; 
Our  number  may  affright.     Some  virgin  sure 


1 36  COMUS 

For  so  I  can  distinguish  by  mine  art) 
Benighted  in  these  woods  !     Now  to  my  charms,  150 

And  to  my  wily  trains  :  I  shall  ere  long 
Be  well  stocked  with  as  fair  a  herd  as  grazed 
About  my  mother  Circe.     Thus  I  hurl 
My  dazzling  spells  into  the  spungy  air, 
Of  power  to  cheat  the  eye  with  blear  illusion,  155 

And  give  it  false  presentments,  lest  the  place 
And  my  quaint  habits  breed  astonishment, 
And  put  the  damsel  to  suspicious  flight ; 
Which  must  not  be,  for  that's  against  my  course. 
I,  under  fair  pretence  of  friendly  ends,  160 

And  well-placed  words  of  glozing  courtesy, 
Baited  with  reasons  not  unplausible, 
Wind  me  into  the  easy-hearted  man, 
And  hug  him  into  snares.     When  once  her  eye 
Hath  met  the  virtue  of  this  magic  dust,  165 

I  shall  appear  some  harmless  villager 
Whom  thrift  keeps  up  about  his  country  gear. 
But  here  she  comes ;  I  fairly  step  aside, 
And  hearken,  if  I  may  her  business  hear. 

The  Lady  enters. 

Lady.   This  way  the  noise  was,  if  mine  ear  be  true,    1 70 
My  best  guide  now.     Methought  it  was  the  sound 
Of  riot  and  ill-managed  merriment, 
Such  as  the  jocund  flute  or  gamesome  pipe 
Stirs  up  among  the  loose  unlettered  hinds, 
When,  for  their  teeming  flocks,  and  granges  full,  1 75 

In  wanton  dance  they  praise  the  bounteous  Pan, 
And  thank  the  gods  amiss.     I  should  be  loth 
To  meet  the  rudeness  and  swilled  insolence 


COM  US  137 

Of  such  late  wassailers  ;  yet,  oh  !  where  else 

Shall  I  inform  my  unacquainted  feet  180 

In  the  blind  mazes  of  this  tangled  wood  ? 

My  brothers,  when  they  saw  me  wearied  out 

With  this  long  way,  resolving  here  to  lodge 

Under  the  spreading  favour  of  these  pines, 

Stepped,  as  they  said,  to  the  next  thicket-side  185 

To  bring  me  berries,  or  such  cooling  fruit 

As  the  kind  hospitable  woods  provide. 

They  left  me  then  when  the  gray-hooded  Even, 

Like  a  sad  votarist  in  palmer's  weed, 

Rose  from  the  hindmost  wheels  of  Phoebus'  wain.  190 

But  where  they  are,  and  why  they  came  not  back, 

Is  now  the  labour  of  my  thoughts.     'Tis  likeliest 

They  had  engaged  their  wandering  steps  too  far; 

And  envious  darkness,  ere  they  could  return, 

Had  stole  them  from  me.     Else,  O  thievish  Night,       195 

Why  shouldst  thou,  but  for  some  felonious  end, 

In  thy  dark  lantern  thus  close  up  the  stars 

That  Nature  hung  in  heaven,  and  filled  their  lamps 

With  everlasting  oil  to  give  due  light 

To  the  misled  and  lonely  traveller?  200 

This  is  the  place,  as  well  as  I  may  guess, 

Whence  even  now  the  tumult  of  loud  mirth 

Was  rife,  and  perfect  in  my  listening  ear ; 

Yet  nought  but  single  darkness  do  I  find. 

What  might  this  be  ?    A  thousand  fantasies  205 

Begin  to  throng  into  my  memory, 

Of  calling  shapes,  and  beckoning  shadows  dire, 

And  airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's  names 

On  sands  and  shores  and  desert  wildernesses. 

These  thoughts  may  startle  well,  but  not  astound  210 

The  virtuous  mind,  that  ever  walks  attended 


138  COM  US 

By  a  strong  siding  champion,  Conscience. 

O,  welcome,  pure-eyed  Faith,  white-handed  Hope, 

Thou  hovering  angel  girt  with  golden  wings, 

And  thou  unblemished  form  of  Chastity  !  215 

I  see  ye  visibly,  and  now  believe 

That  He,  the  Supreme  Good,  to  whom  all  things  ill 

Are  but  as  slavish  officers  of  vengeance, 

Would  send  a  glistering  guardian,  if  need  were, 

To  keep  my  life  and  honour  unassailed.  ...  220 

Was  I  deceived,  or  did  a  sable  cloud 

Turn  forth  her  silver  lining  on  the  night  ? 

I  did  not  err :  there  does  a  sable  cloud 

Turn  forth  her  silver  lining  on  the  night, 

And  casts  a  gleam  over  this  tufted  grove.  225 

I  cannot  hallo  to  my  brothers,  but 

Such  noise  as  I  can  make  to  be  heard  farthest 

I'll  venture ;  for  my  new  enlivened  spirits 

Prompt  me,  and  they  perhaps  are  not  far  off. 

Song. 

Sweet  Echo,  sweetest  nymph,  that  liv'st  unseen  230 

Within  thy  airy  shell 
By  slow  Meander's  margent  green, 
And  in  the  violet-embroidered  vale, 

Where  the  love-lorn  nightingale 
Nightly  to  thee  her  sad  song  mourneth  well :  235 

Canst  thou  not  tell  me  of  a  gentle  pair 
That  likest  thy  Narcissus  are? 
Oh,  if  thou  have 
Hid  them  in  some  flowery  cave, 

Tell  me  but  where,  240 

Sweet  Queen  of  Parley,  Daughter  of  the  Sphere  ! 


com  us  1 39 

So  mayst  thou  be  translated  to  the  skies, 
And  give  resounding  grace  to  all  Heaven's  harmonies  ! 

Comus.   Can  any  mortal  mixture  of  earth's  mould 
Breathe  such  divine  enchanting  ravishment?  245 

Sure  something  holy  lodges  in  that  breast, 
And  with  these  raptures  moves  the  vocal  air 
To  testify  his  hidden  residence. 
How  sweetly  did  they  float  upon  the  wings 
Of  silence,  through  the  empty- vaulted  night,  250 

At  every  fall  smoothing  the  raven  down 
Of  darkness  till  it  smiled  !     I  have  oft  heard 
My  mother  Circe  with  the  Sirens  three, 
Amidst  the  flowery-kirtled  Naiades, 

Culling  their  potent  herbs  and  baleful  drugs,  255 

Who,  as  they  sung,  would  take  the  prisoned  soul, 
And  lap  it  in  Elysium  :  Scylla  wept, 
And  chid  her  barking  waves  into  attention, 
And  fell  Charybdis  murmured  soft  applause. 
Yet  they  in  pleasing  slumber  lulled  the  sense,  260 

And  in  sweet  madness  robbed  it  of  itself; 
But  such  a  sacred  and  home-felt  delight, 
Such  sober  certainty  of  waking  bliss, 
I  never  heard  till  now.     I'll  speak  to  her, 
And  she  shall  be  my  queen.  —  Hail,  foreign  wonder  !     265 
Whom,  certain,  these  rough  shades  did  never  breed, 
Unless  the  goddess  that  in  rural  shrine 
Dwell'st  here  with  Pan  or  Sylvan,  by  blest  song 
Forbidding  every  bleak  unkindly  fog 
To  touch  the  prosperous  growth  of  this  tall  wood.         270 

Lady.    Nay,  gentle  shepherd,  ill  is  lost  that  praise 
That  is  addressed  to  unattending  ears. 
Not  any  boast  of  skill,  but  extreme  shift 


140  COM  us 

How  to  regain  my  severed  company, 

Compelled  me  to  awake  the  courteous  Echo  275 

To  give  me  answer  from  her  mossy  couch. 

Comus.   What  chance,  good  Lady,  hath  bereft  you  thus  ? 

Lady.  Dim  darkness  and  this  leavy  labyrinth. 

Comus.   Could  that  divide  you  from  near-ushering  guides? 

Lady.   They  left  me  weary  on  a  grassy  turf.  280 

Comus.    By  falsehood,  or  discourtesy,  or  why? 

Lady.   To  seek  i'  the  valley  some  cool  friendly  spring. 

Comus.   And  left  your  fair  side  all  unguarded,  Lady  ? 

Lady.   They  were  but  twain,  and  purposed  quick  return. 

Comus.    Perhaps  forestalling  night  prevented  them.  285 

Lady.    How  easy  my  misfortune  is  to  hit ! 

Comus.   Imports  their  loss,  beside  the  present  need  ? 

Lady.   No  less  than  if  I  should  my  brothers  lose. 

Comus.   Were  they  of  manly  prime,  or  youthful  bloom? 

Lady.   As  smooth  as  Hebe's  their  unrazored  lips.  290 

Comus.   Two  such  I  saw,  what  time  the  laboured  ox 
In  his  loose  traces  from  the  furrow  came, 
And  the  swinked  hedger  at  his  supper  sat. 
I  saw  them  under  a  green  mantling  vine, 

That  crawls  along  the  side  of  yon  small  hill,  295 

Plucking  ripe  clusters  from  the  tender  shoots ; 
Their  port  was  more  than  human,  as  they  stood. 
I  took  it  for  a  faery  vision 
Of  some  gay  creatures  of  the  element, 

That  in  the  colours  of  the  rainbow  live,  300 

And  play  i'  the  plighted  clouds.     I  was  awe-strook, 
And,  as  I  passed,  I  worshipped.     If  those  you  seek, 
It  were  a  journey  like  the  path  to  Heaven 
To  help  you  find  them. 

Lady.  Gentle  villager, 

What  readiest  way  would  bring  me  to  that  place?  305 


COM  US  141 

Comus.   Due  west  it  rises  from  this  shrubby  point. 

Lady.   To  find  out  that,  good  shepherd,  I  suppose, 
In  such  a  scant  allowance  of  star-light, 
Would  overtask  the  best  land-pilot's  art,' 
Without  the  sure  guess  of  well-practised  feet.  310 

Comus.   I  know  each  lane,  and  every  alley  green, 
Dingle,  or  bushy  dell,  of  this  wild  wood, 
And  every  bosky  bourn  from  side  to  side, 
My  daily  walks  and  ancient  neighbourhood ; 
And,  if  your  stray  attendance  be  yet  lodged,  315 

Or  shroud  within  these  limits,  I  shall  know 
Ere  morrow  wake,  or  the  low- roosted  lark 
From  her  thatched  pallet  rouse.     If  otherwise, 
I  can  conduct  you,  Lady,  to  a  low 

But  loyal  cottage,  where  you  may  be  safe  320 

Till  further  quest. 

Lady.  Shepherd,  I  take  thy  word, 

And  trust  thy  honest-offered  courtesy ; 
Which  oft  is  sooner  found  in  lowly  sheds, 
With  smoky  rafters,  than  in  tapestry  halls 
And  courts  of  princes,  where  it  first  was  named,  325 

And  yet  is  most  pretended.     In  a  place 
Less  warranted  than  this,  or  less  secure, 
It  cannot  be,  that  I  should  fear  to  change  it. 
Eye  me,  blest  Providence,  and  square  my  trial 
To  my  proportioned  strength  !     Shepherd,  lead  on.  330 

Enter  the  Two  Brothers. 

Eld.  Bro.  Unmuffle,  ye  faint  stars ;  and  thou,  fair  moon, 
That  wont'st  to  love  the  traveller's  benison, 
Stoop  thy  pale  visage  through  an  amber  cloud, 
And  disinherit  Chaos,  that  reigns  here 


142  COM  US 

In  double  night  of  darkness  and  of  shades  ;  335 

Or,  if  your  influence  be  quite  dammed  up 

With  black  usurping  mists,  some  gentle  taper, 

Though  a  rush-candle  from  the  wicker  hole 

Of  some  clay  habitation,  visit  us 

With  thy  long-levelled  rule  of  streaming  light,  340 

And  thou  shalt  be  our  Star  of  Arcady, 

Or  Tyrian  Cynosure. 

Sec.  Bro.  Or,  if  our  eyes 

Be  barred  that  happiness,  might  we  but  hear 
The  folded  flocks,  penned  in  their  wattled  cotes, 
Or  sound  of  pastoral  reed  with  oaken  stops,  345 

Or  whistle  from  the  lodge,  or  village  cock 
Count  the  night-watches  to  his  feathery  dames, 
'Twould  be  some  solace  yet,  some  little  cheering, 
In  this  close  dungeon  of  innumerous  boughs. 
But,  oh,  that  hapless  virgin,  our  lost  sister  !  350 

Where  may  she  wander  now,  whither  betake  her 
From  the  chill  dew,  amongst  rude  burs  and  thistles  ? 
Perhaps  some  cold  bank  is  her  bolster  now, 
Or  'gainst  the  rugged  bark  of  some  broad  elm 
Leans  her  unpillowed  head,  fraught  with  sad  fears.        355 
What  if  in  wild  amazement  and  affright, 
Or,  while  we  speak,  within  the  direful  grasp 
Of  savage  hunger,  or  of  savage  heat ! 

Eld.  Bro.    Peace,  brother  :  be  not  over-exquisite 
To  cast  the  fashion  of  uncertain  evils  ;  360 

For,  grant  they  be  so,  while  they  rest  unknown, 
What  need  a  man  forestall  his  date  of  grief, 
And  run  to  meet  what  he  would  most  avoid  ? 
Or,  if  they  be  but  false  alarms  of  fear, 
How  bitter  is  such  self-delusion  !  365 

I  do  not  think  my  sister  so  to  seek, 


COMUS  143 

Or  so  unprincipled  in  virtue's  book, 

And  the  sweet  peace  that  goodness  bosoms  ever, 

As  that  the  single  want  of  light  and  noise 

(Not  being  in  danger,  as  I  trust  she  is  not)  370 

Could  stir  the  constant  mood  of  her  calm  thoughts, 

And  put  them  into  misbecoming  plight. 

Virtue  could  see  to  do  what  Virtue  would 

By  her  own  radiant  light,  though  sun  and  moon 

Were  in  the  flat  sea  sunk.     And  Wisdom's  self  375 

Oft  seeks  to  sweet  retired  solitude, 

Where,  with  her  best  nurse,  Contemplation, 

She  plumes  her  feathers,  and  lets  grow  her  wings, 

That,  in  the  various  bustle  of  resort, 

Were  all  to-ruffled,  and  sometimes  impaired.  380 

He  that  has  light  within  his  own  clear  breast, 

May  sit  i'  the  centre,  and  enjoy  bright  day : 

But  he  that  hides  a  dark  soul  and  foul  thoughts 

Benighted  walks  under  the  mid-day  sun ; 

Himself  is  his  own  dungeon. 

Sec.  Bro.  Tis  most  true  385 

That  musing  meditation  most  affects 
The  pensive  secrecy  of  desert-cell, 
Far  from  the  cheerful  haunt  of  men  and  herds, 
And  sits  as  safe  as  in  a  senate-house ; 
For  who  would  rob  a  hermit  of  his  weeds,  390 

His  few  books,  or  his  beads,  or  maple  dish, 
Or  do  his  grey  hairs  any  violence  ? 
But  Beauty,  like  the  fair  Hesperian  tree 
Laden  with  blooming  gold,  had  need  the  guard 
Of  dragon-watch  with  unenchanted  eye,  395 

To  save  her  blossoms,  and  defend  her  fruit, 
From  the  rash  hand  of  bold  Incontinence. 
You  may  as  well  spread  out  the  unsunned  heaps 


144  COM  us 

Of  miser's  treasure  by  an  outlaw's  den, 

And  tell  me  it  is  safe,  as  bid  me  hope  400 

Danger  will  wink  on  Opportunity, 

And  let  a  single  helpless  maiden  pass 

Uninjured  in  this  wild  surrounding  waste. 

Of  night  or  loneliness  it  recks  me  not; 

I  fear  the  dread  events  that  dog  them  both,  405 

Lest  some  ill-greeting  touch  attempt  the  person 

Of  our  unowned  sister. 

Eld.  Bro.  I  do  not,  brother, 

Infer  as  if  I  thought  my  sister's  state 
Secure  without  all  doubt  or  controversy ; 
Yet,  where  an  equal  poise  of  hope  and  fear  410 

Does  arbitrate  the  event,  my  nature  is 
That  I  incline  to  hope  rather  than  fear, 
And  gladly  banish  squint  suspicion. 
My  sister  is  not  so  defenceless  left 

As  you  imagine  j  she  has  a  hidden  strength,  /  415 

Which  you  remember  not. 

Sec.  Bro.  What  hidden  strength, 

Unless  the  strength  of  Heaven,  if  you  mean  that? 

Eld.  Bro.   I  mean  that  too,  but  yet  a  hidden  strength, 
Which,  if  Heaven  gave  it,  may  be  termed  her  own. 
Tis  chastity,  my  brother,  chastity  ;  420 

She  that  has  that,  is  clad  in  complete  steel, 
And,  like  a  quivered  nymph  with  arrows  keen, 
May  trace  huge  forests,  and  unharboured  heaths, 
Infamous  hills,  and  sandy  perilous  wilds ; 
Where,  through  the  sacred  rays  of  chastity,  425 

No  savage  fierce,  bandite,  or  mountaineer, 
Will  dare  to  soil  her  virgin  purity. 
Yea,  there  where  very  desolation  dwells, 
By  grots  and  caverns  shagged  with  horrid  shades, 


COMUS  145 

She  may  pass  on  with  unblenched  majesty,  430 

Be  it  not  done  in  pride,  or  in  presumption. 

Some  say  no  evil  thing  that  walks  by  night, 

In  fog  or  fire,  by  lake  or  moorish  fen, 

Blue  meagre  hag,  or  stubborn  unlaid  ghost, 

That  breaks  his  magic  chains  at  curfew  time,  435 

No  goblin  or  swart  faery  of  the  mine, 

Hath  hurtful  power  o'er  true  virginity. 

Do  ye  believe  me  yet,  or  shall  I  call 

Antiquity  from  the  old  schools  of  Greece 

To  testify  the  arms  of  chastity?  440 

Hence  had  the  huntress  Dian  her  dread  bow, 

Fair  silver-shafted  queen  for  ever  chaste, 

Wherewith  she  tamed  the  brinded  lioness 

And  spotted  mountain-pard,  but  set  at  nought 

The  frivolous  bolt  of  Cupid  ;  gods  and  men  445 

Feared  her  stern  frown,  and  she  was  queen  o'  the  woods. 

What  was  that  snaky-headed  Gorgon  shield 

That  wise  Minerva  wore,  unconquered  virgin, 

Wherewith  she  freezed  her  foes  to  congealed  stone, 

But  rigid  looks  of  chaste  austerity,  450 

And  noble  grace  that  dashed  brute  violence 

With  sudden  adoration  and  blank  awe  ? 

So  dear  to  Heaven  is  saintly  chastity 

That,  when  a  soul  is  found  sincerely  so, 

A  thousand  liveried  angels  lackey  her,  455 

Driving  far  off  each  thing  of  sin  and  guilt, 

And  in  clear  dream  and  solemn  vision 

Tell  her  of  things  that  no  gross  ear  can  hear; 

Till  oft  converse  with  heavenly  habitants 

Begin  to  cast  a  beam  on  the  outward  shape,  460 

The  unpolluted  temple  of  the  mind, 

And  turns  it  by  degrees  to  the  soul's  essence, 

L 


146  COM  US 

Till  all  be  made  immortal.     But,  when  lust, 

By  unchaste  looks,  loose  gestures,  and  foul  talk, 

But  most  by  lewd  and  lavish  act  of  sin,  465 

Lets  in  defilement  to  the  inward  parts, 

The  soul  grows  clotted  by  contagion, 

Imbodies,  and  imbrutes,  till  she  quite  lose 

The  divine  property  of  her  first  being. 

Such  are  those  thick  and  gloomy  shadows  damp  470 

Oft  seen  in  charnel-vaults  and  sepulchres, 

Lingering  and  sitting  by  a  new-made  grave, 

As  loth  to  leave  the  body  that  it  loved, 

And  linked  itself  by  carnal  sensuality 

To  a  degenerate  and  degraded  state.  475 

Sec.  Bro.    How  charming  is  divine  Philosophy  ! 
Not  harsh  and  crabbed,  as  dull  fools  suppose, 
But  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute, 
And  a  perpetual  feast  of  nectared  sweets, 
Where  no  crude  surfeit  reigns. 

Eld.  Bro.  List !  list !  I  hear  480 

Some  far-off  hallo  break  the  silent  air. 

Sec.  Bro.   Methought  so  too ;  what  should  it  be  ? 

Eld.  Bro.  For  certain, 

Either  some  one,  like  us,  night-foundered  here, 
Or  else  some  neighbour  woodman,  or,  at  worst, 
Some  roving  robber  calling  to  his  fellows.  485 

Sec.  Bro.   Heaven  keep  my  sister  !     Again,  again,  and  near  ! 
Best  draw,  and  stand  upon  our  guard. 

Eld.  Bro.  I'll  hallo. 

If  he  be  friendly,  he  comes  well :  if  not, 
Defence  is  a  good  cause,  and  Heaven  be  for  us  ! 


COMUS  147 


Enter  the  Attendant  Spirit,  habited  like  a  shepherd. 

That  hallo  I  should  know.     What  are  you  ?     Speak  !  490 

Come  not  too  near ;  you  fall  on  iron  stakes  else. 

Spir.   What  voice  is  that  ?  my  young  Lord  ?  speak  again. 

Sec.  Bro.   O  brother,  'tis  my  father's  shepherd,  sure. 
[Id.  Bro.   Thyrsis  !  whose  artful  strains  have  oft  delayed 
The  Ihucjxilin^brook  to  hear  his  madrigal,  495 

And  sweetened  every  musk-rose  of  the  dale. 
How  earnest  thou  here,  good  swain  ?  hath  any  ram 
Slipped  from  the  fold,  or  young  kid  lost  his  dam, 
Or  straggling  wether  the  pent  flock  forsook? 
How  couldst  thou  find  this  dark  sequestered  nook?  500 

Spir.   O  my  loved  master's  heir,  and  his  next  joy, 
I  came  not  here  on  such  a  trivial  toy 
As  a  strayed  ewe,  or  to  pursue  the  stealth 
Of  pilfering  wolf;  not  all  the  fleecy  wealth 
That  doth  enrich  these  downs  is  worth  a  thought  505 

To  this  my  errand,  and  the  care  it  brought. 
But,  oh  !  my  virgin  Lady,  where  is  she  ? 
How  chance  she  is  not  in  your  company? 

Eld.  Bro.   To  tell  thee  sadly,  Shepherd,  without  blame 
Or  our  neglect,  we  lost  her  as  we  came.  510 

Spir.   Ay  me  unhappy  !  then  my  fears  are  true. 

Eld.  Bro.   What  fears,  good  Thyrsis  ?     Prithee  briefly  shew. 
""Spir.    I'll  tell  ye.     'Tis  not  vain  or  fabulous 
(Though  so  esteemed  by  shallow  ignorance) 
What  the  sage  poets,  taught  by  the  heavenly  Muse,  515 

Storied  of  old  in  high  immortal  verse, 
Of  dire  Chimeras  and  enchanted  isles, 
And  rifted  rocks  whose  entrance  leads  to  Hell ; 
For  such  there  be,  but  unbelief  is  blind. 


148  COMUS 

Within  the  navel  of  this  hideous  wood,  520 

Immured  in  cypress  shades,  a  sorcerer  dwells, 
Of  Bacchus  and  of  Circe  born,  great  Comus, 
Deep  skilled  in  all  his  mother's  witcheries, 
And  here  to  every  thirsty  wanderer 

By  sly  enticement  gives  his  baneful  cup,  525 

With  many  murmurs  mixed,  whose  pleasing  poison 
The  visage  quite  transforms  of  him  that  drinks, 
And  the  inglorious  likeness  of  a  beast 
Fixes  instead,  unmoulding  reason's  mintage 
Charactered  in  the  face.     This  have  I  learnt  530 

Tending  my  flocks  hard  by  i'  the  hilly  crofts 
That  brow  this  bottom-glade ;  whence,  night  by  night, 
He  and  his  monstrous  rout  are  heard  to  howl 
Like  stabled  wolves,  or  tigers  at  their  prey, 
Doing  abhorred  rites  to  Hecate  535 

In  their  obscured  haunts  of  inmost  bowers. 
Yet  have  they  many  baits  and  guileful  spells 
To  inveigle  and  invite  the  unwary  sense 
Of  them  that  pass  unweeting  by  the  way. 
This  evening  late,  by  then  the  chewing  flocks  540 

Had  ta'en  their  supper  on  the  savoury  herb 
Of  knot-grass  dew-besprent,  and  were  in  fold, 
I  sat  me  down  to  watch  upon  a  bank 
With  ivy  canopied,  and  interwove 

With  flaunting  honey-suckle,  and  began,  545 

Wrapt  in  a  pleasing  fit  of  melancholy, 
To  meditate  my  rural  minstrelsy, 
Till  fancy  had  her  fill.  *  But  ere  a  close, 
The  wonted  roar  was  up  amidst  the  woods, 
And  filled  the  air  with  barbarous  dissonance ;  550 

At  which  I  ceased,  and  listened  them  a  while, 
Till  an  unusual  stop  of  sudden  silence 


COM  US  149 

Gave  respite  to  the  drowsy- flighted  steeds 

That  draw  the  litter  of  close-curtained  Sleep. 

At  last  a  soft  and  solemn-breathing  sound  555 

Rose  like  a  steam  of  rich  distilled  perfumes, 

And  stole  upon  the  air,  that  even  Silence 

Was  took  ere  she  was  ware,  and  wished  she  might 

Deny  her  nature,  and  be  never  more, 

Still  to  be  so  displaced.     I  was  all  ear,  560 

And  took  in  strains  that  might  create  a  soul 

Under  the  ribs  of  Death.     But,  oh  !  ere  long 

Too  well  I  did  perceive  it  was  the  voice 

Of  my  most  honoured  Lady,  your  dear  sister. 

Amazed  I  stood,  harrowed  with  grief  and  fear;  565 

And  "  O  poor  hapless  nightingale,"  thought  I, 

"  How  sweet  thou  sing'st,  how  near  the  deadly  snare  !  " 

Then  down  the  lawns  I  ran  with  headlong  haste, 

Through  paths  and  turnings  often  trod  by  day, 

Till,  guided  by  mine  ear,  I  found  the  place  570 

Where  that  damned  wizard,  hid  in  sly  disguise 

(For  so  by  certain  signs  I  knew),  had  met 

Already,  ere  my  best  speed  could  prevent, 

The  aidless  innocent  lady,  his  wished  prey, 

Who  gently  asked  if  he  had  seen  such  two,  575 

Supposing  him  some  neighbour  villager. 

Longer  I  durst  not  stay,  but  soon  I  guessed 

Ye  were  the  two  she  meant ;  with  that  I  sprung 

Into  swift  flight,  till  I  had  found  you  here, 

But  further  know  I  not. 

Sec.  Bro.  O  night  and  shades,  580 

How  are  ye  joined  with  Hell  in  triple  knot 
Against  the  unarmed  weakness  of  one  virgin, 
Alone  and  helpless  !    Is  this  the  confidence 
You  gave  me,  brother? 


150  COMUS 

Eld.  Bro.  Yes,  and  keep  it  still  j 

Lean  on  it  safely;  not  a  period  585 

Shall  be  unsaid  for  me.     Against  the  threats 
Of  malice  or  of  sorcery,  or  that  power 
Which  erring  men  call  Chance,  this  I  hold  firm  : 
Virtue  may  be  assailed,  but  never  hurt, 
Surprised  by  unjust  force,  but  not  enthralled ;  590 

Yea,  even  that  which  Mischief  meant  most  harm 
Shall  in  the  happy  trial  prove  most  glory. 
But  evil  on  itself  shall  back  recoil, 
And  mix  no  more  with  goodness,  when  at  last, 
Gathered  like  scum,  and  settled  to  itself,  595 

It  shall  be  in  eternal  restless  change 
Self-fed,  and  self-consumed.    If  this  fail, 
The  pillared  firmament  is  rottenness, 
And  earth's  base  built  on  stubble.     But  come,  let's  on  ! 
Against  the  opposing  will  and  arm  of  Heaven  600 

May  never  this  just  sword  be  lifted  up  ; 
But  for  that  damned  magician,  let  him  be  girt 
With  all  the  grisly  legions  that  troop 
Under  the  sooty  flag  of  Acheron, 

Harpies  and  Hydras,  or  all  the  monstrous  forms  605 

'Twixt  Africa  and  Ind,  I'll  find  him  out, 
And  force  him  to  return  his  purchase  back, 
Or  drag  him  by  the  curls  to  a  foul  death, 
Cursed  as  his  life. 

Spir.  Alas  !  good  venturous  youth, 

I  love  thy  courage  yet,  and  bold  emprise ;  610 

But  here  thy  sword  can  do  thee  little  stead. 
Far  other  arms  and  other  weapons  must 
Be  those  that  quell  the  might  of  hellish  charms. 
He  with  his  bare  wand  can  unthread  thy  joints, 
And  crumble  all  thy  sinews. 


COMUS  1 5 1 

Eld.  Bro.  Why,  prithee,  Shepherd,    615 

How  durst  thou  then  thyself  approach  so  near 
As  to  make  this  relation  ? 

Spir.  Care  and  utmost  shifts 

How  to  secure  the  Lady  from  surprisal 
Brought  to  my  mind  a  certain  shepherd-lad, 
Of  small  regard  to  see  to,  yet  well  skilled  620 

In  every  virtuous  plant  and  healing  herb 
That  spreads  her  verdant  leaf  to  the  morning  ray. 
He  loved  me  well,  and  oft  would  beg  me  sing  \ 
Which  when  I  did,  he  on  the  tender  grass 
Would  sit,  and  hearken  e'en  to  ecstasy,  625 

And  in  requital  ope  his  leathern  scrip, 
And  show  me  simples  of  a  thousand  names, 
Telling  their  strange  and  vigorous  faculties. 
Amongst  the  rest  a  small  unsightly  root, 
But  of  divine  effect,  he  culled  me  out.  630 

The  leaf  was  darkish,  and  had  prickles  on  it, 
But  in  another  country,  as  he  said, 
Bore  a  bright  golden  flower,  but  not  in  this  soil, 
Unknown,  and  like  esteemed,  and  the  dull  swain 
Treads  on  it  daily  with  his  clouted  shoon ;  635 

And  yet  more  med'cinal  is  it  than  that  Moly 
That  Hermes  once  to  wise  Ulysses  gave. 
He  called  it  Haemony,  and  gave  it  me, 
And  bade  me  keep  it  as  of  sovereign  use 
'Gainst  all  enchantments,  mildew  blast  or  damp,  640 

Or  ghastly  Furies'  apparition. 
I  pursed  it  up,  but  little  reckoning  made, 
Till  now  that  this  extremity  compelled. 
But  now  I  find  it  true ;  for  by  this  means 
I  knew  the  foul  enchanter,  though  disguised,  645 

Entered  the  very  lime-twigs  of  his  spells, 


152  COM  US 

And  yet  came  off.     If  you  have  this  about  you 

(As  I  will  give  you  when  we  go),  you  may 

Boldly  assault  the  necromancer's  hall ; 

Where  if  he  be,  with  dauntless  hardihood  650 

And  brandished  blade  rush  on  him,  break  his  glass, 

And  shed  the  luscious  liquor  on  the  ground  ; 

But  seize  his  wand.     Though  he  and  his  curst  crew 

Fierce  sign  of  battle  make,  and  menace  high, 

Or,  like  the  sons  of  Vulcan,  vomit  smoke,  655 

Yet  will  they  soon  retire,  if  he  but  shrink. 

Eld.  Bro.   Thyrsis,  lead  on  apace  ;  I'll  follow  thee ; 
And  some  good  angel  bear  a  shield  before  us  ! 

~*\ 

The  Scene  changes  to  a  stately  palace,  set  out  with  all  manner 
of  deliciousness :  soft  music,  tables  spread  with  all  dainties. 
Comus  appears  with  his  rabble,  and  the  Lady  set  in  an 
enchanted  chair,  to  whom  he  offers  his  glass,  which  she  puts 
by,  and  goes  about  to  rise. 

Comus.   Nay,  Lady,  sit.     If  I  but  wave  this  wand, 
Your  nerves  are  all  chained  up  in  alabaster,  660 

And  you  a  statue,  or  as  Daphne  was, 
Root-bound,  that  fled  Apollo. 

Lady.  Fool,  do  not  boast. 

Thou  canst  not  touch  the  freedom  of  my  mind 
With  all  thy  charms,  although  this  corporal  rind 
Thou  hast  immanacled,  while  Heaven  sees  good.  665 

Comus.   Why  are  you  vext,  Lady  ?  why  do  you  frown  ? 
Here  dwell  no  frowns,  nor  anger ;  from  these  gates 
Sorrow  flies  far.     See,  here  be  all  the  pleasures 
That  fancy  can  beget  on  youthful  thoughts, 
When  the  fresh  blood  grows  lively,  and  returns  670 


COM  US  153 

Brisk  as  the  April  buds  in  primrose  season. 

And  first  behold  this  cordial  julep  here, 

That  flames  and  dances  in  his  crystal  bounds, 

With  spirits  of  balm  and  fragrant  syrups  mixed. 

Not  that  Nepenthes,  which  the  wife  of  Thone  675 

In  Egypt  gave  to  Jove-born  Helena, 

Is  of  such  power  to  stir  up  joy  as  this, 

To  life  so  friendly,  or  so  cool  to  thirst. 

Why  should  you  be  so  cruel  to  yourself, 

And  to  those  dainty  limbs  which  Nature  lent  680 

For  gentle  usage  and  soft  delicacy? 

But  you  invert  the  covenants  of  her  trust, 

And  harshly  deal,  like  an  ill  borrower, 

With  that  which  you  received  on  other  terms, 

Scorning  the  unexempt  condition  685 

By  which  all  mortal  frailty  must  subsist, 

Refreshment  after  toil,  ease  after  pain, 

That  have  been  tired  all  day  without  repast, 

And  timely  rest  have  wanted.     But,  fair  virgin, 

This  will  restore  all  soon. 

Lady.  'Twill  not,  false  traitor !        690 

'Twill  not  restore  the  truth  and  honesty 
That  thou  hast  banished  from  thy  tongue  with  lies. 
Was  this  the  cottage  and  the  safe  abode 
Thou  told'st  me  of?    What  grim  aspects  are  these, 
These  oughly-headed  monsters?     Mercy  guard  me  !     695 
Hence  with  thy  brewed  enchantments,  foul  deceiver  ! 
Hast  thou  betrayed  my  credulous  innocence 
With  vizored  falsehood  and  base  forgery  ? 
And  wouldst  thou  seek  again  to  trap  me  here 
With  liquorish  baits,  fit  to  ensnare  a  brute  ?  700 

Were  it  a  draught  for  Juno  when  she  banquets, 
I  would  not  taste  thy  treasonous  offer.     None 


1 54  com  us 

But  such  as  are  good  men  can  give  good  things  j 

And  that  which  is  not  good  is  not  delicious 

To  a  well-governed  and  wise  appetite.  705 

Comus.   O  foolishness  of  men  !  that  lend  their  ears 
To  those  budge  doctors  of  the  Stoic  fur, 
And  fetch  their  precepts  from  the  Cynic  tub, 
Praising  the  lean  and  sallow  Abstinence  ! 

Wherefore  did  Nature  pour  her  bounties  forth  710 

With  such  a  full  and  unwithdrawing  hand, 
Covering  the  earth  with  odours,  fruits,  and  flocks, 
Thronging  the  seas  with  spawn  innumerable, 
But  all  to  please  and  sate  the  curious  taste  ? 
And  set  to  work  millions  of  spinning  worms,  715 

That  in  their  green  shops  weave  the  smooth-haired  silk, 
To  deck  her  sons ;  and  that  no  corner  might 
Be  vacant  of  her  plenty,  in  her  own  loins 
She  hutched  the  all-worshiped  ore  and  precious  gems, 
To  store  her  children  with.     If  all  the  world  720 

Should,  in  a  pet  of  temperance,  feed  on  pulse, 
Drink  the  clear  stream,  and  nothing  wear  but  frieze, 
The  All-giver  would  be  unthanked,  would  be  unpraised, 
Not  half  his  riches  known,  and  yet  despised  ; 
And  we  should  serve  him  as  a  grudging  master,  725 

As  a  penurious  niggard  of  his  wealth, 
And  live  like  Nature's  bastards,  not  her  sons, 
Who  would  be  quite  surcharged  with  her  own  weight, 
And  strangled  with  her  waste  fertility ; 

The    earth    cumbered,    and    the    winged    air     darked   with 
plumes,  730 

The  herds  would  over-multitude  their  lords ; 
The  sea  o'erfraught  would  swell,  and  the  unsought  diamonds 
Would  so  emblaze  the  forehead  of  the  deep, 
And  so  bestud  with  stars,  that  they  below 


COMUS  155 

Would  grow  inured  to  light,  and  come  at  last  735 

To  gaze  upon  the  sun  with  shameless  brows. 

List,  Lady ;  be  not  coy,  and  be  not  cozened 

With  that  same  vaunted  name,  Virginity. 

Beauty  is  Nature's  coin  ;  must  not  be  hoarded, 

But  must  be  current ;  and  the  good  thereof  740 

Consists  in  mutual  and  partaken  bliss, 

Unsavoury  in  the  enjoyment  of  itself. 

If  you  let  slip  time,  like  a  neglected  rose 

It  withers  on  the  stalk  with  languished  head. 

Beauty  is  Nature's  brag,  and  must  be  shown  745 

In  courts,  at  feasts,  and  high  solemnities, 

Where  most  may  wonder  at  the  workmanship. 

It  is  for  homely  features  to  keep  home ; 

They  had  their  name  thence  ;  coarse  complexions 

And  cheeks  of  sorry  grain  will  serve  to  ply  750 

The  sampler,  and  to  tease  the  huswife's  wool. 

What  need  a  vermeil-tinctured  lip  for  that, 

Love-darting  eyes,  or  tresses  like  the  morn? 

There  was  another  meaning  in  these  gifts ; 

Think  what,  and  be  advised;  you  are  but  young  yet.  755 

Lady.    I  had  not  thought  to  have  unlocked  my  lips 
In  this  unhallowed  air,  but  that  this  juggler 
Would  think  to  charm  my  judgment,  as  mine  eyes, 
Obtruding  false  rules  pranked  in  reason's  garb. 
I  hate  when  vice  can  bolt  her  arguments,  760 

And  virtue  has  no  tongue  to  check  her  pride. 
Impostor  !  do  not  charge  most  innocent  Nature, 
As  if  she  would  her  children  should  be  riotous 
With  her  abundance.     She,  good  cateress, 
Means  her  provision  only  to  the  good,  765 

That  live  according  to  her  sober  laws, 
And  holy  dictate  of  spare  Temperance. 


156  com  us 

If  every  just  man,  that  now  pines  with  want, 

Had  but  a  moderate  and  beseeming  share 

Of  that  which  lewdly-pampered  Luxury  770 

Now  heaps  upon  some  few  with  vast  excess, 

Nature's  full  blessings  would  be  well  dispensed 

In  unsuperfluous  even  proportion, 

And  she  no  whit  encumbered  with  her  store ; 

And  then  the  Giver  would  be  better  thanked,  775 

His  praise  due  paid  :  for  swinish  Gluttony 

Ne'er  looks  to  Heaven  amidst  his  gorgeous  feast, 

But  with  besotted  base  ingratitude 

Crams,  and  blasphemes  his  Feeder.     Shall  I  go  on? 

Or  have  I  said  enow?    To  him  that  dares  780 

Arm  his  profane  tongue  with  contemptuous  words 

Against  the  sun-clad  power  of  Chastity, 

Fain  would  I  something  say ;  —  yet  to  what  end  ? 

Thou  hast  nor  ear,  nor  soul,  to  apprehend 

The  sublime  notion  and  high  mystery  785 

That  must  be  uttered  to  unfold  the  sage 

And  serious  doctrine  of  Virginity ; 

And  thou  art  worthy  that  thou  shouldst  not  know 

More  happiness  than  this  thy  present  lot. 

Enjoy  your  dear  wit,  and  gay  rhetoric,  790 

That  hath  so  well  been  taught  her  dazzling  fence ; 

Thou  art  not  fit  to  hear  thyself  convinced. 

Yet  should  I  try,  the  uncontrolled  worth 

Of  this  pure  cause  would  kindle  my  rapt  spirits 

To  such  a  flame  of  sacred  vehemence,  795 

That  dumb  things  would  be  moved  to  sympathize, 

And  the  brute  Earth  would  lend  her  nerves,  and  shake, 

Till  all  thy  magic  structures,  reared  so  high, 

Were  shattered  into  heaps  o'er  thy  false  head. 

Comus.    She  fables  not.     I  feel  that  I  do  fear  800 


COM  US  .157 

Her  words  set  off  by  some  superior  power ; 

And,  though  not  mortal,  yet  a  cold  shuddering  dew 

Dips  me  all  o'er,  as  when  the  wrath  of  Jove 

Speaks  thunder  and  the  chains  of  Erebus 

To  some  of  Saturn's  crew.     I  must  dissemble,  805 

And  try  her  yet  more  strongly.  —  Come,  no  more  ! 

This  is  mere  moral  babble,  and  direct 

Against  the  canon-laws  of  our  foundation. 

I  must  not  suffer  this ;  yet  'tis  but  the  lees 

And  settlings  of  a  melancholy  blood.  810 

But  this  will  cure  all  straight ;  one  sip  of  this 

Will  bathe  the  drooping  spirits  in  delight 

Beyond  the  bliss  of  dreams.     Be  wise,  and  taste. 


The  Brothers  rush  in  with  swords  drawn,  wrest  his  glass  out 
of  his  hand,  and  break  it  against  the  ground ;  his  rout  make 
sign  of  resistance,  but  are  all  driven  in.  The  Attendant 
Spirit  comes  in. 

Spir.   What !  have  you  let  the  false  enchanter  scape? 
Oh,  ye  mistook ;  ye  should  have  snatched  his  wand,  815 

And  bound  him  fast.     Without  his  rod  reversed, 
And  backward  mutters  of  dissevering  power, 
We  cannot  free  the  Lady  that  sits  here 
In  stony  fetters  fixed,  and  motionless. 

Yet  stay  :  be  not  disturbed ;  now  I  bethink  me,  820 

Some  other  means  I  have  which  may  be  used, 
Which  once  of  Meliboeus  old  I  learnt, 
The  soothest  shepherd  that  e'er  piped  on  plains. 

There  is  a  gentle  nymph  not  far  from  hence, 
That  with  moist  curb  sways  the  smooth  Severn  stream :        825 
Sabrina  is  her  name  :  a  virgin  pure ; 


158  com  us 

Whilom  she  was  the  daughter  of  Locrine, 

That  had  the  sceptre  from  his  father  Brute. 

She,  guiltless  damsel,  flying  the  mad  pursuit 

Of  her  enraged  stepdame,  Guendolen,  830 

Commended  her  fair  innocence  to  the  flood, 

That  stayed  her  flight  with  his  cross- flowing  course. 

The  water-nymphs,  that  in  the  bottom  played, 

Held  up  their  pearled  wrists,  and  took  her  in, 

Bearing  her  straight  to  aged  Nereus'  hall ;  835 

Who,  piteous  of  her  woes,  reared  her  lank  head, 

And  gave  her  to  his  daughters  to  imbathe 

In  nectared  lavers  strewed  with  asphodil, 

And  through  the  porch  and  inlet  of  each  sense 

Dropt  in  ambrosial  oils,  till  she  revived,  840 

And  underwent  a  quick  immortal  change, 

Made  Goddess  of  the  river.     Still  she  retains 

Her  maiden  gentleness,  and  oft  at  eve 

Visits  the  herds  along  the  twilight  meadows, 

Helping  all  urchin  blasts,  and  ill-luck  signs  845 

That  the  shrewd  meddling  elf  delights  to  make, 

Which  she  with  precious  vialed  liquors  heals ; 

For  which  the  shepherds  at  their  festivals 

Carol  her  goodness  loud  in  rustic  lays, 

And  throw  sweet  garland  wreaths  into  her  stream  850 

Of  pansies,  pinks,  and  gaudy  daffodils. 

And,  as  the  old  swain  said,  she  can- unlock 

The  clasping  charm,  and  thaw  the  numbing  spell, 

If  she  be  right  invoked  in  warbled  song ; 

For  maidenhood  she  loves,  and  will  be  swift  855 

To  aid  a  virgin,  such  as  was  herself, 

In  hard-besetting  need.     This  will  I  try, 

And  add  the  power  of  some  adjuring  verse. 


COM  US  159 

Song. 
Sabrina  fair, 

Listen  where  thou  art  sitting  860 

Under  the  glassy,  cool,  translucent  wave, 

In  twisted  braids  of  lilies  knitting 
The  loose  train  of  thy  amber-dropping  hair ; 
Listen  for  dear  honour's  sake, 
Goddess  of  the  silver  lake,  865 

Listen  and  save  ! 

Listen  and  appear  to  us, 
In  name  of  great  Oceanus. 
By  the  earth-shaking  Neptune's  mace, 
And  Tethy's  grave  majestic  pace  ;  870 

By  hoary  Nereus'  wrinkled  look, 
And  the  Carpathian  wizard's  hook ; 
By  scaly  Triton's  winding  shell, 
And  old  soothsaying  Glaucus'  spell ; 
By  Leucothea's  lovely  hands,  875 

And  her  son  that  rules  the  strands ; 
By  Thetis'  tinsel-slippered  feet, 
And  the  songs  of  Sirens  sweet ; 
By  dead  Parthenope's  dear  tomb, 
And  fair  Ligea's  golden  comb,  880 

Wherewith  she  sits  on  diamond  rocks, 
Sleeking  her  soft  alluring  locks ; 
By  all  the  nymphs  that  nightly  dance 
Upon  thy  streams  with  wily  glance ; 
Rise,  rise,  and  heave  thy  rosy  head  885 

From  thy  coral-paven  bed, 
And  bridle  in  thy  headlong  wave, 
Till  thou  our  summons  answered  have. 
Listen  and  save ! 


160  COMUS 

Sabrina  rises,  attended  by  water-nymphs,  and  sings. 

By  the  rushy-fringed  bank,  890 

Where  grows  the  willow  and  the  osier  dank, 

My  sliding  chariot  stays, 
Thick  set  with  agate,  and  the  azurn  sheen 
Of  turkis  blue,  and  emerald  green, 

That  in  the  channel  strays  ;  895 

Whilst,  from  off  the  waters  fleet, 
Thus  I  set  my  printless  feet 
O'er  the  cowslip's  velvet  head, 

That  bends  not  as  I  tread. 
Gentle  swain,  at  thy  request  900 

I  am  here  ! 

Spir.   Goddess  dear, 
We  implore  thy  powerful  hand 
To  undo  the  charmed  band 

Of  true  virgin  here  distrest  905 

Through  the  force  and  through  the  wile 
Of  unblest  enchanter  vile. 

Sabr.   Shepherd,  'tis  my  office  blest 
To  help  ensnared  chastity. 

Brightest  Lady,  look  on  me.  910 

Thus  I  sprinkle  on  thy  breast 
Drops  that  from  my  fountain  pure 
I  have  kept  of  precious  cure ; 
Thrice  upon  thy  finger's  tip, 

Thrice  upon  thy  rubied  lip  ;  915 

Next  this  marble  venomed  seat, 
Smeared  with  gums  of  glutinous  heat, 
I  touch  with  chaste  palms  moist  and  cold. 
Now  the  spell  hath  lost  his  hold  j 
And  I  must  haste  ere  morning  hour  920 

To  wait  in  Amphitrite's  bower. 


COM  us  161 

Sabrina  descends,  and  the  Lady  rises  out  of  her  seat. 

Spir.   Virgin,  daughter  of  Locrine, 
Sprung  of  old  Anchises'  line, 
May  thy  brimmed  waves  for  this 

Their  full  tribute  never  miss  925 

From  a  thousand  petty  rills, 
That  tumble  down  the  snowy  hills; 
Summer  drouth,  or  singed  air 
Never  scorch  thy  tresses  fair, 

Nor  wet  October's  torrent  flood  930 

Thy  molten  crystal  fill  with  mud ; 
May  thy  billows  roll  ashore 
The  beryl,  and  the  golden  ore ; 
May  thy  lofty  head  be  crowned 

With  many  a  tower  and  terrace  round,  935 

And  here  and  there  thy  banks  upon 
With  groves  of  myrrh  and  cinnamon. 

Come,  Lady ;  while  Heaven  lends  us  grace, 
Let  us  fly  this  cursed  place, 

Lest  the  sorcerer  us  entice  94° 

With  some  other  new  device. 
Not  a  waste  or  needless  sound, 
Till  we  come  to  holier  ground. 
I  shall  be  your  faithful  guide 

Through  this  gloomy  covert  wide ;  945 

And  not  many  furlongs  thence 
Is  your  Father's  residence, 
Where  this  night  are  met  in  state 
Many  a  friend  to  gratulate 

His  wished  presence,  and  beside  950 

All  the  swains  that  there  abide 
With  jigs,  and  rural  dance  resort. 


1 62  COM  US 

We  shall  catch  them  at  their  sport, 

And  our  sudden  coming  there 

Will  double  all  their  mirth  and  cheer.  955 

Come,  let  us  haste  ;  the  stars  grow  high, 

But  Night  sits  monarch  yet  in  the  mid-sky. 

The  Scene  changes,  presenting  Ludlow  town  and  the  Presidenfs 
castle;  then  come  in  country  dancers;  after  them  the  Attend- 
ant Spirit,  with  the  Two  Brothers  and  the  Lady. 

Song. 

Spir.   Back,  shepherds,  back  !  enough  your  play, 
Till  next  sunshine  holiday. 

Here  be,  without  duck  or  nod,  960 

Other  trippings  to  be  trod 
Of  lighter  toes,  and  such  court-guise 
As  Mercury  did  first  devise 
With  the  mincing  Dryades 
On  the  lawns  and  on  the  leas.  965 

This  second  Song  presents  them  to  their  Father  and  Mother. 

Noble  Lord,  and  Lady  bright, 

I  have  brought  ye  new  delight. 

Here  behold  so  goodly  grown 

Three  fair  branches  of  your  own. 

Heaven  hath  timely  tried  their  youth,  970 

Their  faith,  their  patience,  and  their  truth, 

And  sent  them  here  through  hard  assays 

With  a  crown  of  deathless  praise, 

To  triumph  in  victorious  dance 

O'er  sensual  folly  and  intemperance.  975 


COM  US  •  163 

The  dances  ended,  the  Spirit  epiloguizes. 

Spir.   To  the  ocean  now  I  fly, 
And  those  happy  climes  that  lie 
Where  day  never  shuts  his  eye, 
Up  in  the  broad  fields  of  the  sky. 
There  I  suck  the  liquid  air,  980 

All  amidst  the  gardens  fair 
Of  Hesperus,  and  his  daughters  three 
That  sing  about  the  golden  tree. 
Along  the  crisped  shades  and  bowers 
Revels  the  spruce  and  jocund  Spring ;  985 

The  Graces  and  the  rosy-bosomed  Hours 
Thither  all  their  bounties  bring. 
There  eternal  Summer  dwells, 
And  west-winds  with  musky  wing 
About  the  cedarn  alleys  fling  990 

Nard  and  cassia's  balmy  smells. 
Iris  there  with  humid  bow 
Waters  the  odorous  banks,  that  blow 
Flowers  of  more  mingled  hue 
Than  her  purfled  scarf  can  shew,  995 

And  drenches  with  Elysian  dew 
(List,  mortals,  if  your  ears  be  true) 
Beds  of  hyacinth  and  roses, 
Where  young  Adonis  oft  reposes, 
Waxing  well  of  his  deep  wound,  1000 

In  slumber  soft,  and  on  the  ground 
Sadly  sits  the  Assyrian  queen. 
But  far  above,  in  spangled  sheen, 
Celestial  Cupid,  her  famed  son,  advanced 
Holds  his  dear  Psyche,  sweet  entranced  1005 

After  her  wandering  labours  long, 


1 64  com  us 

Till  free  consent  the  gods  among 

Make  her  his  eternal  bride, 

And  from  her  fair  unspotted  side 

Two  blissful  twins  are  to  be  born,  ioio 

Youth  and  Joy ;  so  Jove  hath  sworn. 

But  now  my  task  is  smoothly  done, 
I  can  fly,  or  I  can  run 
Quickly  to  the  green  earth's  end, 
Where  the  bowed  welkin  slow  doth  bend,         1015 
And  from  thence  can  soar  as  soon 
To  the  corners  of  the  moon. 

r        Mortals,  that  would  follow  me, 
Love  Virtue ;  she  alone  is  free. 
She  can  teach  ye  how  to  climb  1020 

Higher  than  the  sphery  chime ; 
Or,  if  Virtue  feeble  were, 
Heaven  itself  would  stoop  to  her. 

V 


LYCIDAS  165 


LYCIDAS 


The  poem  of  Lycidas  was  occasioned  by  the  death  of 
Milton's  College  friend,  Edward  King,  son  of  Sir  John  King, 
Knight,  Privy  Councillor  for  Ireland,  and  Secretary  to  the 
Irish  Government.  King  was  admitted  on  the  9th  of  June,  1626, 
at  the  age  of  fourteen,  to  Christ's  College,  Cambridge,  about 
sixteen  months  after  Milton's  admission.  Milton  left  College 
after  receiving  his  Master's  degree  in  July,  1632  ;  so  that  at 
this  date,  he  and  King  had  been  at  College  together  about 
six  years.  King  was  made  a  Fellow  of  his  College  in  June, 
1630,  in  conformity  with  a  royal  mandate,  secured,  it  may 
have  been,  through  Sir  John's  influence  at  court,  due  to  his 
official  position.  He  had  also  been  Privy  Councillor  for  the 
Kingdom  of  Ireland,  to  their  majesties,  Elizabeth  and 
James. 

Milton's  claim,  as  a  scholar,  to  the  Fellowship  must  have 
been  far  superior  to  King's,  and  he  was  ahead  of  him  in  his 
College  course.  But  Fellowships  went  a  good  deal  by  politi- 
cal and  ecclesiastical  influence ;  and,  furthermore,  it  is  not 
likely  that  Milton  would  have  accepted  a  Fellowship  at  the 
time,  if  it  had  been  offered  to  him,  involving,  as  it  did,  the 
taking  of  orders,  against  which  Milton's  mind  must  already 
at  that  time  have  been  decided,  though  he  had  been  sent  to 
the  University  with  the  Church  in  view. 

King  received  his  Master's  degree  in  July,  1633,  and  con- 
tinued his  connection  with  the  College  as  fellow,  tutor,  and, 
in  1634-35,  as  '  praelector.'  He  was  noted  for  his  amiability 
and  purity  of  character  and  genuine  piety ;  and  Milton  was 
probably  drawn  to  him  more   by  these  qualities  than  by  his 


1 66  LYCIDAS 

intellectual  and  poetical  abilities.  He  left  numerous  Latin 
compositions  (published  in  various  collections),  which,  accord- 
ing to  Masson,  have  no  remarkable  poetical  merit.  But  their 
subjects,  all,  with  one  exception,  royal  occasions,  did  not 
afford  opportunities  for  the  display  of  poetic  genius,  —  the 
birth  of  the  Princess  Mary,  the  king's  recovery  from  the  small- 
pox, the  king's  safe  return  from  Scotland,  July,  1633,  com- 
mendatory iambics  prefixed  to  a  Latin  comedy,  Senile  Odium, 
performed  in  Queen's  College,  the  birth  of  Prince  James,  Duke 
of  York,  the  birth  of  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  and  the  birth  of 
the  Princess  Anne. 

King  was  preparing  himself  for  the  Church  j  and  it  may  be 
inferred  from  Milton's  poem  that  he  regarded  him  as  worthy, 
in  an  eminent  degree,  to  discharge  the  responsible  duties  of 
a  Christian  minister. 

In  the  Long  Vacation  of  1637,  King  set  out  to  visit  his  family 
and  friends  in  Ireland.  He  embarked  at  Chester  for  Dublin. 
When  but  a  short  distance  from  the  Welsh  coast,  the  weather 
being  at  the  time,  as  appears  from  Milton's  poem,  perfectly 
calm,  the  ship  (it  is  alluded  to  as  a  '  fatal  and  perfidious 
bark ')  struck  on  a  rock  and  soon  went  down,  only  a  few  of 
the  passengers  being  rescued. 

A  volume  of '  In  Memoriam  '  poems,  by  members  of  different 
Colleges  of  the  University,  and  others,  twenty  in  Latin,  three 
in  Greek,  and  thirteen  in  English,  was  printed  at  the  Univer- 
sity Press  and  published  early  in  the  following  year  (1638). 
The  Latin  and  Greek  part  of  the  volume  bore  the  title,  '  Justa 
Edovardo  King  naufrago,  ab  amicis  mcerentibus,  amoris  et 
//,vaas  xapiv.  Si  recte  calculum  ponas,  ubique  naufragium  est. 
Petron.  Arb.  Cantabrigiae,  apud  Thomam  Buck  et  Rogerum 
Daniel,  celeberrimse  Academiae  typographos.     1638.' 

The  English  part  bore  the  title,  '  Obsequies  to  the  memorie 
of  Mr.  Edward  King,  Anno  Dom.   1638.      Printed   by   Th. 


LYCIDAS  167 

Buck  and  R.  Daniel,  printers  to  the  Vniversitie  of  Cambridge, 
1638.' 

Prefixed  to  the  volume  is  a  brief  Latin  inscriptive  panegyric, 
in  which  King's  last  moments  are  described  :  '  haud  procul  a 
littore  Britannico,  navi  in  scopulum  allisa  et  rimis  ex  ictu 
fatiscente,  dum  alii  vectores  vitae  mortalis  frustra  satagerent, 
immortalem  anhelans  in  genu  provolutus  oransque  una  cum 
navigio  ab  aquis  absorptus,  animam  deo  reddidit  iiii  eid. 
Sextilis  anno  Salutis  MDCXXXVII,  ^Etatis  xxv.' 

The  extracts  given  by  Masson,  from  the  English  poems, 
have  no  poetic  merit,  nor  merit  of  any  kind,  being  clumsy 
tissues  of  far-fetched,  cold-blooded  conceits,  of  which  the  fol- 
lowing, from  three  of  the  contributions,  are  not  unfair  speci- 
mens. There  could  not  have  been  an  excess  of  poetical 
ability  in  the  University  at  the  time. 

1 1  am  no  poet  here ;  my  pen's  the  spout 
Where  the  rain-water  of  my  eyes  runs  out. 
In  pity  of  that  name  whose  fate  we  see 
Thus  copied  out  in  griefs  Hydrographie.' 

'  Since  first  the  waters  gave 
A  blessing  to  him  which  the  soul  did  save, 
They  loved  the  holy  body  still  too  much, 
And  would  regain  some  virtue  from  a  touch.' 

1  Weep  forth  your  tears,  then  ;  pour  out  all  your  tide ; 
All  waters  are  pernicious  since  King  died.' 

The  writers  must  all  have  sat  at  the  feet  and  learned  of 
John  Donne,  whose  coldly  ingenious  conceits  had  for  some 
time  been  passing  for  poetry. 

Milton  might  well  lament,  in  the  person  of  his  bereaved 
shepherd,  the  sad  decline  of  poetry,  since  the  Elizabethan  days. 


1 68  LYCIDAS 

*     '  Alas  !  what  boots  it  with  uncessant  care 

To  tend  the  homely,  slighted,  shepherd's  trade, 
And  strictly  meditate  the  thankless  Muse  ? 
Were  it  not  better  done,  as  others  use, 
To  sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade, 
Or  with  the  tangles  of  Neaera's  hair?  ' 

Milton's  poem  comes  last  in  the  collection,  without  title, 
and  with  simply  the.  initials  I.  M.  appended.  It  presents  a 
strange  contrast  to  the  worthless  productions  which  precede 
it.  Unless  the  other  writers'  poetic  appreciation  was  very 
far  in  advance  of  their  poetic  power,  as  exhibited  in  their 
several  contributions,  they  could  have  had  but  little  appre- 
ciation of  the  merits  of  Milton's  poem.  There  is  no  reason 
for  supposing  that  King's  death  caused  Milton  a  deep  per- 
sonal grief,  such  as  that  which  was  caused  by  the  death  of 
Charles  Diodati,  and  to  which  the  Epitaphium  Damonis 
bears  testimony. 

Milton  had  no  doubt  cherished  for  King  a  deep  regard, 
as  one  exceptionally  fitted,  by  his  purity  of  character,  and 
sincere  piety,  for  the  sacred  office.  And  the  presentation, 
in  his  elegiac  ode,  of  these  qualities,  afforded  an  occasion 
for  giving  an  expression  to  what  was  evidently  a  greater  grief 
to  him  than  the  death  of  his  College  friend,  namely,  the 
condition  of  the  Church,  which  he  regarded  as  corrupt  in 
itself,  and  as  in  league  with  the  despotic  tendencies  of  the 
political  power.  All  the  '  higher  strains '  of  the  ode  are  in- 
spired by  a  holy  indignation  toward  the  time-serving  eccle- 
siastics, whose  unworthiness,  as  shepherds  of  Christ's  flock, 
he  sets  forth  in  the  burning  denunciations  attributed  to  St. 
Peter,  as  the  type  of  true  episcopal  power,  —  denunciations 
which  are  prophetic  of  those  he  is  destined  to  pronounce  in 
a  few  years,   in  his  polemic  prose    works,   against  the  more 


^  LYCIDAS  169 

developed  ecclesiastical  and  political  abuses  of  the  time,  as 
one  specially  commissioned  by  God,  so  to  do,  in  the  words 
delivered  to  the  prophet :  '  Cry  aloud,  spare  not,  lift  up  thy 
voice  like  a  trumpet,  and  declare  unto  my  people  their 
transgression,  and  to  the  house  of  Jacob  their  sins.' 

When  the  poem  was  republished  with  the  author's  full 
name,  in  1645,  it  had  the  following  heading :  '  In  this 
Monody  the  author  bewails  a  learned  friend,  unfortunately 
drowned  in  his  passage  from  Chester  on  the  Irish  seas,  1637; 
and,  by  occasion,  foretells  the  ruin  of  our  corrupted  Clergy, 
then  in  their  height.' 

This  heading  would,  no  doubt,  have  caused  the  rejection 
of  the  poem  by  the  Cambridge  authorities.  Milton's 
hostility  to  the  hierarchy  of  England  was  little  suspected 
then  :  he  was  no  doubt  regarded  as  a  loyal  and  dutiful  son 
of  his  Alma  Mater,  and,  besides,  it  is  not  likely  that  the 
several  contributions  to  the  King  Memorial  were  looked  into 
very  closely  by  the  Committee  of  Examination. 

The  death  of  the  Shepherd  Lycidas  is  made  to  image 
forth  the  death  of  a  pure  priesthood.  It  is  possible  that 
Milton  may  have  seen  an  etymological  significance  in  the 
name  Lycidas  (which  the  philology  of  the  present  day 
would  not  admit)  and  which  caused  him  to  adopt  the  name 
as  bearing  upon  the  ecclesiastical  import  of  the  poem.  The 
name  for  him  may  have  signified  a  wolf-seer,  to  look  out 
for  the  wolf  being  one  of  the  most  important  duties  of 
the  shepherd  who  has  the  care  of  the  sheep  and  of  the 
spiritual  shepherd  or  pastor  who  watches  over  Christ's 
flock. 

1  The  pilot  of  the  Galilean  lake,'  St.  Peter,  '  the  type  and  head 
of  true  episcopal  power,'  is  introduced  among  the  mourners  of 
the  death  of  King,  denouncing  the  lewd  hirelings  of  the  priest- 
hood of  the  time. 


iyO  LYCIDAS 

1  How  well  could  I  have  spared  for  thee,  young  swain, 
Enow  of  such  as,  for  their  bellies'  sake, 
Creep,  and  intrude,  and  climb  into  the  fold  ! 
Of  other  care  they  little  reckoning  make 
Than  how  to  scramble  at  the  shearers'  feast, 
And  shove  away  the  worthy  bidden  guest. 
Blind  mouths  !  that  scarce  themselves  know  how  to  hold 
A  sheep-hook,  or  have  learnt  aught  else  the  least 
That  to  the  faithful  herd  man's  art  belongs  ! 
What  recks  it  them?     What  need  they?    They  are  sped; 
And,  when  they  list,  their  lean  and  flashy  songs 
Grate  on  their  scrannel  pipes  of  wretched  straw ; 
The  hungry  sheep  look  up,  and  are  not  fed, 
But,  swoln  with  wind  and  the  rank  mist  they  draw, 
Rot  inwardly,  and  foul  contagion  spread ; 
Besides  what  the  grim  wolf  with  privy  paw 
Daily  devours  apace,  and  nothing  said. 
But  that  two-handed  engine  at  the  door 
Stands  ready  to  smite  once,  and  smite  no  more.' 

The  two  last  verses  some  commentators  have  explained  as  a 
prophecy  of  the  execution  of  Archbishop  Laud,  which  took 
place  on  the  ioth  of  January,  1644,  six  years  after  the  publica- 
tion of  'Lycidas.'  Warton  thus  paraphrases  the  lines  :  '  But  there 
will  soon  be  an  end  of  all  these  evils ;  the  axe  is  at  hand,  to 
take  off  the  head  of  him  who  has  been  the  great  abettor  of 
these  corruptions  of  the  gospel.  This  will  be  done  by  one 
stroke.' 

If  this  is  the  meaning  of  the  passage,  it  was  certainly  a  very 
remarkable  prophecy,  when  it  was  written,  for  the  king  and  the 
archbishop  were  then  at  the  height  of  their  power,  and  there 
was  little  or  nothing  to  indicate  its  overthrow. 

The  passage  admits  of  a  more  probable  explanation.     The 


LYCIDAS  17I 

two-handed  engine,  the  epithet  'two-handed'  meaning  that  its 
length  and  weight  required  it  to  be  grasped  with  both  hands, 
refers  to  the  sword  of  St.  Michael,  the  guardian  and  protector 
of  the  Church.  In  the  6th  Book  of  the  ■  Paradise  Lost '  (w.  250 
-253)  it  is  said  of  the  sword  of  Michael  that  it 

'  Smote  and  felled 
Squadrons  at  once ;  with  huge  two-handed  sway 
Brandished  aloft,  the  horrid  edge  came  down 
Wide-wasting. ' 

The  poet  in  this  passage  therefore  means  to  say  that  St. 
Michael's  sword  is  to  smite  off  the  head  of  Satan,  who,  at  the 
door  of  Christ's  fold,  is,  '  with  privy  paw,'  daily  devouring  the 
hungry  sheep. 

In  a  sublime  invocation  to  the  Son  of  God,  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  fourth  section  of  '  Animadversions  upon  the  Remon- 
strant's Defence  against  Smectymnuus,'  Milton  says  :  '  As  thou 
didst  dignify  our  fathers'  days  with  many  revelations  above  all 
the  foregoing  ages,  since  thou  tookest  the  flesh,  so  thou  canst 
vouchsafe  to  us  (though  unworthy)  as  large  a  portion  of  thy 
spirit  as  thou  pleasest ;  for  who  shall  prejudice  thy  all-govern- 
ing will  ?  Seeing  the  power  of  thy  grace  is  not  passed  away 
with  the  primitive  times,  as  fond  and  faithless  men  imagine,  but 
thy  kingdom  is  now  at  hand,  and  thou  standing  at  the  door. 
Come  forth  out  of  thy  royal  chambers,  O  Prince  of  all  the 
kings  of  the  earth  !  put  on  the  visible  robes  of  thy  imperial 
majesty,  take  up  that  unlimited  sceptre  which  thy  Almighty 
Father  hath  bequeathed  thee ;  for  now  the  voice  of  thy  bride 
calls  thee,  and  all  creatures  sigh  to  be  renewed.' 

The  view  taken  is  strengthened  by  another  disputed  passage 
of  the  poem,  a  few  verses  farther  on.  The  poet  is  addressing 
his  drowned  friend,  whose  body  he  imagines  to  be  tossed  about 
by  the  waves  (vv.  154-163)  : 


1^2  LYCIDAS 

'  Ay  me  !  whilst  thee  the  shores  and  sounding  seas 
Wash  far  away,  where'er  thy  bones  are  hurled ; 
Whether  beyond  the  stormy  Hebrides, 
Where  thou  perhaps  under  the  whelming  tide 
Visitest  the  bottom  of  the  monstrous  world ; 
Or  whether  thou,  to  our  moist  vows  denied, 
Sleep'st  by  the  fable  of  Bellerus  old, 
Where  the  great  Vision  of  the  guarded  mount 
Looks  toward  Namancos  and  Bayona's  hold, 
Look  homeward,  Angel,  now,  and  melt  with  ruth.' 

By  *  the  fable  of  Bellerus  old,'  is  meant  St.  Michael's  Mount 
at  the  Land's  End  in  Cornwall,  anciently  named  Bellerium, 
from  Bellerus,  a  Cornish  giant,  where  the  Vision  of  St.  Michael 
was,  by  the  old  fable,  represented  to  sit,  looking  toward  far 
Namancos  and  the  hold  of  Spanish  Bayona. 

Much  of  the  deeper  meaning  of  the  poem  centres  in  the 
three  last  verses  of  the  passage  quoted  : 

'  Where  the  great  Vision  of  the  guarded  mount 
Looks  toward  Namancos  and  Bayona's  hold, 
Look  homeward,  Angel,  now,  and  melt  with  ruth.' 

The  annotators  say  nothing,  so  far  as  I  know,  about  the  appli- 
cation of  the  great  Vision  of  the  guarded  mount  to  the  ecclesi- 
astical meaning  of  the  poem.  The  meaning  I  take  to  be  this  : 
in  making  the  Archangel  Michael,  the  guardian  and  defender  of 
the  Church  of  Christ,  look  toward  Namancos  and  Bayona's 
hold,  i.e.  toward  Spain,  the  great  stronghold,  at  the  time,  of 
Papacy,  and  which,  in  'the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  had  tjireatened 
England  with  invasion  and  with  the  imposition  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  religion,  the  poet  would  evidently  imply  the  Arch- 
angel's watchfulness  over  the  Church  against,  foreign  foes. 
But  the  danger  is  not  from  without  (this  I  take  to  be  the  idea 


LYCIDAS  173 

shadowed  forth),  the  danger  is  not  from  without  —  it  lies 
ivithin  the  Church.  Milton,  or  rather  '  Milton  transformed  in 
his  imagination,  for  the  time,  into  a  poetic  shepherd,'  therefore 
says  : 

1  Look  homeward,  Angel,  now,  and  melt  with  ruth.' 

Lycidas,  who  is  made  to  represent,  allegorically,  the  good 
shepherd  that  careth  for  the  sheep  and  looketh  out  for  the 
wolf,  is  dead;  and  the  lewd  hirelings  who,  for  their  bellies' 
sake,  have  crept  into  the  fold,  and  to  whom  the  hungry  sheep 
look  up  and  are  not  fed,  have  themselves  become  grim  wolves, 
and  with  privy  paw  seize  upon  and  devour  the  flock. 

1  Lycidas '  was  the  last  of  Milton's  poems  produced  during 
his  residence  under  his  father's  roof  at  Horton,  in  Bucking- 
hamshire. He  set  out  soon  after  on  his  continental  tour. 
Perhaps  the  ■  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new,'  in  the  last  verse 
of  the  poem,  refers  to  this  contemplated  tour.  On  his  return 
to  his  native  land,  he  had  to  bid  farewell,  a  long  farewell^o 
the  loved  haunts  of  the  Muses,  and  gird  himself  to  fight  the 
battle  of  civil  and  religious  liberty. 

Yet  once  more,  O  ye  laurels,  and  once  more, 

Ye  myrtles  brown,  with  ivy  never  sere, 

I  come  to  pluck  your  berries  harsh  and  crude, 

And  with  forced  fingers  rude 

Shatter  your  leaves  before  the  mellowing  year.  5 

Bitter  constraint  and  sad  occasion  dear 

Compels  me  to  disturb  your  season  due ; 

For  Lycidas  is  dead,  dead  ere  his  prime, 

Young  Lycidas,  and  hath  not  left  his  peer. 

Who  would  not  sing  for  Lycidas  ?    He  knew  10 

Himself  to  sing  and  build  the  lofty  rhyme. 

He  must  not  float  upon  his  watery  bier 


174 


LYCIDAS 

Unwept,  and  welter  to  the  parching  wind, 
Without  the  meed  of  some  melodious  tear. 

Begin,  then,  Sisters  of  the  sacred  well  15 

That  from  beneath  the  seat  of  Jove  doth  spring ; 
Begin,  and  somewhat  loudly  sweep  the  string. 
Hence  with  denial  vain  and  coy  excuse — 
So  may  some  gentle  Muse 

With  lucky  words  favour  my  destined  urn,  20 

And  as  he  passes  turn, 
And  bid  fair  peace  be  to  my  sable  shroud  — 
For  we  were  nursed  upon  the  self-same  hill, 
Fed  the  same  flock,  by  fountain,  shade,  and  rill ; 
Together  both,  ere  the  high  lawns  appeared  25 

Under  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  Morn, 
We  drove  a-field,  and  both  together  heard 
What  time  the  grey-fly  winds  her  sultry  horn, 
Battening  our  flocks  with  the  fresh  dews  of  night, 
Oft  till  the  star  that  rose  at  evening,  bright,  30 

Toward  heaven's  descent  had  sloped  his  westering  wheel. 
Meanwhile  the  rural  ditties  were  not  mute, 
Tempered  to  the  oaten  flute ; 
Rough  Satyrs  danced,  and  Fauns  with  cloven  heel 
From  the  glad  sound  would  not  be  absent  long ;  35 

And  old  Damcetas  loved  to  hear  our  song. 

But,  oh  !  the  heavy  change,  now  thou  art  gone, 
Now  thou  art  gone  and  never  must  return  ! 
Thee,  Shepherd,  thee  the  woods,  and  desert  caves 
With  wild  thyme  and  the  gadding  vine  o'ergrown,  40 

And  all  their  echoes,  mourn. 
The  willows,  and  the  hazel  copses  green, 
Shall  now  no  more  be  seen 
Fanning  their  joyous  leaves  to  thy  soft  lays. 
As  killing  as  the  canker  to  the  rose,  45 


LYCIDAS  1/5 

Or  taint-worm  to  the  weanling  herds  that  graze, 
Or  frost  to  flowers,  that  their  gay  wardrobe  wear, 
When  first  the  white-thorn  blows; 
Such,  Lycidas,  thy  loss  to  shepherd's  ear. 

Where  were  ye,  Nymphs,  when  the  remorseless  deep  50 

Closed  o'er  the  head  of  your  loved  Lycidas  ? 
For  neither  were  ye  playing  on  the  steep 
Where  your  old  bards,  the  famous  Druids,  lie, 
Nor  on  the  shaggy  top  of  Mona  high, 

Nor  yet  where  Deva  spreads  her  wizard  stream.  55 

Ay  me  !  I  fondly  dream 

'  Had  ye  been  there,'  ...  for  what  could  that  have  done  ? 
What  could  the  Muse  herself  that  Orpheus  bore, 
The  Muse  herself,  for  her  enchanting  son, 
Whom  universal  nature  did  lament,  60 

When,  by  the  rout  that  made  the  hideous  roar, 
His  gory  visage  down  the  stream  was  sent, 
Down  the  swift  Hebrus  to  the  Lesbian  shore? 
Alas  !  what  boots  it  with  uncessant  care 

To  tend  the  homely,  slighted,  shepherd's  trade,  65 

And  strictly  meditate  the  thankless  Muse  ? 
Were  it  not  better  done,  as  others  use, 
To  sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade, 
Or  with  the  tangles  of  Neaera's  hair? 

Fame  is  the  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise  70 

(That  last  infirmity  of  noble  mind) 
To  scorn  delights  and  live  laborious  days ; 
But,  the  fair  guerdon  when  we  hope  to  find, 
And  think  to  burst  out  into  sudden  blaze, 
Comes  the  blind  Fury  with  the  abhorred  shears,  75 

And  slits  the  thin-spun  life.       But  not  the  praise,' 
Phoebus  replied,  and  touched  my  trembling  ears : 
*  Fame  is  no  plant  that  grows  on  mortal  soil, 


176  LYCIDAS 

Nor  in  the  glistering  foil 

Set  off  to  the  world,  nor  in  broad  rumour  lies,  80 

But  lives  and  spreads  aloft  by  those  pure  eyes 
And  perfect  witness  of  all-judging  Jove  ; 
As  he  pronounces  lastly  on  each  deed, 
Of  so  much  fame  in  heaven  expect  thy  meed.' 
O  fountain  Arethuse,  and  thou  honoured  flood,  85 

*  Smooth-sliding  Mincius,  crowned  with  vocal  reeds, 
That  strain  I  heard  was  of  a  higher  mood. 
But  now  my  oat  proceeds, 
And  listens  to  the  Herald  of  the  Sea, 
That  came  in  Neptune's  plea.  90 

He  asked  the  waves,  and  asked  the  felon  winds, 
What  hard  mishap  hath  doomed  this  gentle  swain  ? 
And  questioned  every  gust  of  rugged  wings 
That  blows  from  off  each  beaked  promontory. 
They  knew  not  of  his  story ;  95 

And  sage  Hippotades  their  answer  brings, 
That  not  a  blast  was  from  his  dungeon  strayed  : 
The  air  was  calm,  and  on  the  level  brine 
Sleek  Panope  with  all  her  sisters  played. 
It  was  that  fatal  and  perfidious  bark,  100 

Built  in  the  eclipse,  and  rigged  with  curses  dark, 
That  sunk  so  low  that  sacred  head  of  thine. 

Next,  Camus,  reverend  sire,  went  footing  slow, 
His  mantle  hairy,  and  his  bonnet  sedge, 
Inwrought  with  figures  dim,  and  on  the  edge  105 

Like  to  that  sanguine  flower  inscribed  with  woe. 
*  Ah  !  who  has  reft,'  quoth  he,  '  my  dearest  pledge  ? ' 
Last  came,  and  last  did  go, 
The  Pilot  of  the  Galilean  Lake ; 

Two  massy  keys  he  bore  of  metals  twain  no 

(The  golden  opes,  the  iron  shuts  amain). 
\ 


LYCIDAS  177 

He  shook  his  mitred  locks,  and  stern  bespake  : 

1  How  well  could  I  have  spared  for  thee,  young  swain, 

Enow  of  such  as,  for  their  bellies'  sake, 

Creep,  and  intrude,  and  climb  into  the  fold  !  115 

Of  other  care  they  little  reckoning  make 

Than  how  to  scramble  at  the  shearers'  feast, 

And  shove  away  the  worthy  bidden  guest. 

Blind  mouths  !  that  scarce  themselves  know  how  to  hold 

A  sheep-hook,  or  have  learned  aught  else  the  least        120 

That  to  the  faithful  herdman's  art  belongs  ! 

What  recks  it  them ?     What  need  they?     They  are  sped; 

And,  when  they  list,  their  lean  and  flashy  songs 

Grate  on  their  scrannel  pipes  of  wretched  straw ; 

The  hungry  sheep  look  up,  and  are  not  fed,  125 

But,  swoln  with  wind  and  the  rank  mist  they  draw, 

Rot  inwardly,  and  foul  contagion  spread ; 

Besides  what  the  grim  wolf  with  privy  paw 

Daily  devours  apace,  and  nothing  said. 

But  that  two-handed  engine  at  the  door  130 

Stands  ready  to  smite  once,  and  smite  no  more.' 

Return,  Alpheus ;  the  dread  voice  is  past 
That  shrunk  thy  streams  ;  return,  Sicilian  Muse, 
And  call  the  vales,  and  bid  them  hither  cast 
Their  bells  and  flowerets  of  a  thousand  hues.  135 

Ye  valleys  low,  where  the  mild  whispers  use 
Of  shades,  and  wanton  winds,  and  gushing  brooks, 
On  whose  fresh  lap  the  swart  star  sparely  looks, 
Throw  hither  all  your  quaint  enamelled  eyes, 
That  on  the  green  turf  suck  the  honeyed  showers,  140 

And  purple  all  the  ground  with  vernal  flowers. 
Bring  the  rathe  primrose  that  forsaken  dies, 
The  tufted  crow- toe,  and  pale  jessamine, 
The  white  pink,  and  the  pansy  freaked  with  jet, 


178  LYCIDAS 

The  glowing  violet,  145 

The  musk-rose,  and  the  well-attired  woodbine, 

With  cowslips  wan  that  hang  the  pensive  head, 

And  every  flower  that  sad  embroidery  wears ; 

Bid  amaranthus  all  his  beauty  shed, 

And  daffodillies  fill  their  cups  with  tears,  ,  150 

To  strew  the  laureate  herse  where  Lycid  lies. 

For  so,  to  interpose  a  little  ease, 

Let  our  frail  thoughts  dally  with  false  surmise, 

Ay  me  !  whilst  thee  the  shores  and  sounding  seas 

Wash  far  away,  where'er  thy  bones  are  hurled;  155 

Whether  beyond  the  stormy  Hebrides, 

Where  thou  perhaps  under  the  whelming  tide 

Visit'st  the  bottom  of  the  monstrous  world ; 

Or  whether  thou,  to  our  moist  vows  denied, 

Sleep'st  by  the  fable  of  Bellerus  old,  160 

Where  the  great  Vision  of  the  guarded  mount 

Looks  toward  Namancos  and  Bayona's  hold  : 

Look  homeward,  Angel,  now,  and  melt  with  ruth : 

And,  O  ye  dolphins,  waft  the  hapless  youth. 

Weep  no  more,  woeful  shepherds,  weep  no  more,      165 
For  Lycidas,  your  sorrow,  is  not  dead, 
Sunk  though  he  be  beneath  the  watery  floor. 
So  sinks  the  day-star  in  the  ocean  bed, 
And  yet  anon  repairs  his  drooping  head, 
And  tricks  his  beams,  and  with  new-spangled  ore  1 70 

Flames  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky : 
So  Lycidas  sunk  low,  but  mounted  high, 
Through  the  dear  might  of  Him  that  walked  the  waves, 
Where,  other  groves  and  other  streams  along, 
With  nectar  pure  his  oozy  locks  he  laves,  175 

And  hears  the  unexpressive  nuptial  song, 
In  the  blest  kingdoms  meek  of  joy  and  love. 


LYCIDAS  179 

There  entertain  him  all  the  Saints  above, 

In  solemn  troops,  and  sweet  societies, 

That  sing,  and  singing  in  their  glory  move,  180 

And  wipe  the  tears  for  ever  from  his  eyes. 

Now,  Lycidas,  the  shepherds  weep  no  more ; 

Henceforth  thou  art  the  genius  of  the  shore, 

In  thy  large  recompense,  and  shalt  be  good 

To  all  that  wander  in  that  perilous  flood.  185 

Thus  sang  the  uncouth  swain  to  the  oaks  and  rills, 
While  the  still  morn  went  out  with  sandals  grey : 
He  touched  the  tender  stops  of  various  quills, 
With  eager  thought  warbling  his  Doric  lay : 
And  now  the  sun  had  stretched  out  all  the  hills,  190 

And  now  was  dropt  into  the  western  bay. 
At  last  he  rose,  and  twitched  his  mantle  blue ; 
To-morrow  to  fresh  woods,  and  pastures  new. 


4^ 


SAMSON  AGONISTES 

A  DRAMATIC  POEM 
THE  AUTHOR 

JOHN    MILTON 

Aristot.  Poet.  Cap.  6. 

TpaywSta  ftt/xrycrts  7rpa£ea>s  OTrovSatas,  etc. 

Tragoedia  est  imitatio  actionis  serise,  etc.,  per  miseri- 

cordiam  et  metum  perficiens  talium  affectuum 

lustrationem. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  1 83 

SAMSON   AGONISTES 

1  The  intensest  utterance  of  the  most  intense  of  English  Poets'* 

In  his  ■  Reason  of  Church  Government  urged  against  Prelaty,' 
Milton  makes  the  following  remarkable  allegorical  application 
of  the  story  of  Samson  to  a  king  and  his  prelates.  It  is  con- 
tained in  '  The  Conclusion.  The  Mischief  that  Prelaty  does  to 
the  State '  ; 

1 1  shall  shew  briefly,  ere  I  conclude,  that  the  prelates,  as  they 
are  to  the  subjects  a  calamity,  so  are  they  the  greatest  under- 
miners  and  betrayers  of  the  monarch,  to  whom  they  seem  to 
be  most  favourable.  .  I  cannot  better  liken  the  state  and  per- 
son of  a  king  than  to  that  mighty  Nazarite  Samson ;  who 
being  disciplined  from  his  birth  in  the  precepts  and  the  prac- 
tice of  temperance  and  sobriety,  without  the  strong  drink  of 
injurious  and  excessive  desires,  grows  up  to  a  noble  strength 
and  perfection  with  those  his  illustrious  and  sunny  locks,  the 
laws,  waving  and  curling  about  his  godlike  shoulders.  And 
while  he  keeps  them  about  him  undiminished  and  unshorn,  he 
may  with  the  jawbone  of  an  ass,  that  is,  with  the  word  of  his 
meanest  officer,  suppress  and  put  to  confusion  thousands  of 
those  that  rise  against  his  just  power.  But  laying  down  his 
head  among  the  strumpet  flatteries  of  prelates,  while  he  sleeps 
and  thinks  no  harm,  they  wickedly  shaving  off  all  those  bright 
and  weighty  tresses  of  his  law,  and  just  prerogatives,  which  were 
his  ornament  and  strength,  deliver  him  over  to  indirect  and 
violent  counsels,  which,  as  those  Philistines,  put  out  the  fair 
and  far-sighted  eyes  of  his  natural  discerning,  and  make  him 
grind  in  the  prison  house  of  their  sinister  ends  and  practices 
upon  him ;  till  he,  knowing  this  prelatical  razor  to  have  bereft 
him  of  his  wonted  might,  nourish  again  his  puissant  hair,  the 


1 84  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

golden  beams  of  law  and  right ;  and  they,  sternly  shook,  thun- 
der with  ruin  upon  the  heads  of  those  his  evil  counsellors,  but 
not  without  great  affliction  to  himself.  This  is  the  sum  of  their 
loyal  service  to  kings  ;  yet  these  are  the  men  that  still  cry,  The 
king,  the  king,  the  Lord's  anointed  !  We  grant  it ;  and  won- 
der how  they  came  to  light  upon  anything  so  true  ;  and  wonder 
more,  if  kings  be  the  Lord's  anointed,  how  they  dare  thus  oil 
over  and  besmear  so  holy  an  unction  with  the  corrupt  and 
putrid  ointment  of  their  base  flatteries ;  which,  while  they 
smooth  the  skin,  strike  inward  and  envenom  the  life  blood. 
What  fidelity  kings  can  expect  from  prelates,  both  examples 
past,  and  our  present  experience  of  their  doings  at  this  day, 
whereon  is  grounded  all  that  hath  been  said,  may  suffice  to  in- 
form us.  And  if  they  be  such  clippers  of  regal  power,  and 
shavers  of  the  laws,  how  they  stand  affected  to  the  lawgiving 
parliament,  yourselves,  worthy  peers  and  commons,  can  best 
testify;  the  current  of  whose  glorious  and  immortal  actions  hath 
been  only  opposed  by  the  obscure  and  pernicious  designs  of  the 
prelates,  until  their  insolence  broke  out  to  such  a  bold  affront, 
as  hath  justly  immured  their  haughty  looks  within  strong  walls.' 

'The  Reason  of  Church  Government  urged  against  Prelaty' 
was  published  in  1641,  nearly  eight  years  before  Charles  I.  was 
beheaded,  and  just  thirty  years  before  the  publication  of 'Samson 
Agonistes.'  He  little  dreamed  that  the  reigning  king  would,  in 
less  than  eight  years,  be  put  to  death,  and  that  he  should  play 
such  a  role  in  the  subsequent  state  of  things,  should  have  such 
experiences  and  such  disappointments  and  sorrows  as  would  make 
the  fortunes  of  Samson  the  prototype  of  a  great  final  creation 
embodying  allegorically  his  own  strangely  similar  fortunes. 

In  Milton's  MS.  jottings  of  subjects  for  a  tragedy  or  an 
epic  poem,  in  the  Library  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  made 
in  1640  and  some  time  following,  and  occupying  seven  pages  of 
folio-sized  paper,  is  included  (No.  19  of  the  list  of  Old  Testa- 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  1 85 

ment  subjects)  '  Samson  Pursophorus  or  Hybristes '  [i.e.  Sam- 
son the  Firebrand-bringer  or  Violent,  as  Masson  explains],  'or 
Samson  Marrying,  or  Ramath-Lechi :  Judges  xv.' 

Nothing,  of  course,  could  have  been  more  remote  from  Mil- 
ton's mind  than  that  thirty  years  after  this  jotting,  his  swan- 
song  would  be  given  to  the  world,  in  which  Samson,  blind  and 
among  the  Philistines,  would  allegorically  reflect  his  own  con- 
dition, in  the  last  years  of  his  life. 

The  parallelisms  in  the  fortunes  of  Samson  and  Milton  have 
been  noticed  by  almost  every  editor  and  every  critic  of  the 
1  Samson  Agonistes.'  They  are  too  obvious  to  escape  the  notice 
of  the  most  careless  reader  who  knows  anything  of  the  life  of 
Milton.  Samson  is  Milton  in  the  polemic  and  in  the  post-Res- 
toration period  of  his  life.  In  all  literature  there  is  not  a  nobler, 
more  exalting  and  pathetic  egotism,  than  the  *  Samson  Agonistes ' 
exhibits  —  an  egotism  for  which  every  lover  of  the  great  poet 
must  be  abundantly  thankful.  '  How  very  much/  Walter 
Savage  Landor  justly  remarks,  '  would  literature  have  lost,  if 
this  marvellously  great  and  admirable  man  had  omitted  the 
various  references  to  himself  and  his  contemporaries  ! ' 

Of  the  numerous  autobiographical  passages  in  the  '  Samson 
Agonistes,'  which  editors  have  noted,  those  most  distinctly  so 
are  the  following :  vv.  40,  41  ;  67-109 ;  19^-193  ;  £19-33(7  • 
241-255  j  268-^76  ;  563-572  )  590-598^5-702);  760,  761  ; 
1025-1060);   1418-1422;  ^61-147'i-j  ^687-1 70J) 

These  passages  show  that  the  allegorical  significance  of  the 
'Samson  Agonistes'  bears  not  only  upon  Milton's  individual 
life  and  experiences,  but  also  upon  the  backsliding  of  the  Eng- 
lish people,  in  their  restoration  of  monarchy.  The  misgivings 
to  which  Milton  gave  expression  in  his  '  Ready  and  easy  way 
to  establish  a  free  commonwealth,  and  the  excellence  thereof, 
compared  with  the  inconveniences  and  dangers  of  readmitting 
kingship  in  this  nation,'  were  realized  in  less  than  three  months 


1 86  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

after  its  publication  late  in  February  or  early  in  March,  1660. 
Charles  II.  entered  London  May  29,  1660.  These  misgivings 
are  expressed,  or,  at  least,  implied,  in  the  following  passage  of 
'  The  ready  and  easy  way.'  The  involved  construction  of  the 
language  in  this  pamphlet  shows  that  it  must  have  been  very 
hastily  dictated  by  the  blind  poet : 

'  After  our  liberty  and  religion  thus  prosperously  fought  for, 
gained,  and  many  years  possessed,  except  in  those  unhappy 
interruptions,  which  God  hath  removed;  now  that  nothing 
remains,  but  in  all  reason  the  certain  hopes  of  a  speedy  and 
immediate  settlement  for  ever  in  a  firm  and  free  commonwealth, 
for  this  extolled  and  magnified  nation,  regardless  both  of 
honour  won,  or  deliverances  vouchsafed  from  heaven,  to  fall 
back,  or  rather  to  creep  back  so  poorly,  as  it  seems  the  multi- 
tude would,  to  their  once  abjured  and  detested  thraldom  of 
kingship,  to  be  ourselves  the  slanderers  of  our  own  just  and 
religious  deeds,  though  done  by  some  to  covetous  and  ambi- 
tious ends,  yet  not  therefore  to  be  stained  with  their  infamy, 
or  they  to  asperse  the  integrity  of  others ;  and  yet  these  now 
by  revolting  from  the  conscience  of  deeds  well  done,  both  in 
church  and  state,  to  throw  away  and  forsake,  or  rather  to  be- 
tray, a  just  and  noble  cause  for  the  mixture  of  bad  men  who 
have  ill-managed  and  abused  it  (which  had  our  fathers  done 
heretofore,  and  on  the  same  pretence  deserted  true  religion, 
what  had  long  ere  this  become  of  our  gospel,  and  all  protes- 
tant  reformation  so  much  intermixed  with  the  avarice  and 
ambition  of  some  reformers?),  and  by  thus  relapsing,  to  verify 
all  the  bitter  predictions  of  our  triumphing  enemies,  who  will 
now  think  they  wisely  discerned  and  justly  censured  both  us 
and  all  our  actions  as  rash,  rebellious,  hypocritical,  and  impi- 
ous ;  not  only  argues  a  strange,  degenerate  contagion  suddenly 
spread  among  us,  fitted  and  prepared  for  new  slavery,  but  will 
render  us  a  scorn  and  derision  to  all  our  neighbours,' 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  1 87 


OF  THAT   SORT  OF   DRAMATIC   POEM   WHICH 
IS  CALLED  TRAGEDY 

Tragedy,  as  it  was  anciently  composed,  hath  been  ever  held 
the  gravest,  moralest,  and  most  profitable  of  all  other  poems ; 
therefore  said  by  Aristotle  to  be  of  power,  by  raising  pity  and 
fear,  or  terror,  to  purge  the  mind  of  those  and  such-like 
passions,  —  that  is,  to  temper  and  reduce  them  to  just  measure 
with  a  kind  of  delight,  stirred  up  by  reading  or  seeing  those 
passions  well  imitated.  Nor  is  Nature  wanting  in  her  own 
effects  to  make  good  his  assertion  j  for  so,  in  physic,  things  of 
melancholic  hue  and  quality  are  used  against  melancholy,  sour 
against  sour,  salt  to  remove  salt  humours.  Hence  philosophers 
and  other  gravest  writers,  as  Cicero,  Plutarch,  and  others,  fre- 
quently cite  out  of  tragic  poets,  both  to  adorn  and  illustrate 
their  discourse.  The  Apostle  Paul  himself  thought  it  not 
unworthy  to  insert  a  verse  of  Euripides  into  the  text  of  Holy 
Scripture,  1  Cor.  xv.  33 ;  and  Paraeus,  commenting  on  the 
Revelation,  divides  the  whole  book,  as  a  tragedy,  into  acts, 
distinguished  each  by  a  chorus  of  heavenly  harpings  and  song 
between.  Heretofore  men  in  highest  dignity  have  laboured  not 
a  little  to  be  thought  able  to  compose  a  tragedy.  Of  that 
honour  Dionysius  the  elder  was  no  less  ambitious  than  before 
of  his  attaining  to  the  tyranny.  Augustus  Caesar  also  had 
begun  his  Ajax,  but,  unable  to  please  his  own  judgment  with 
what  he  had  begun,  left  it  unfinished.  Seneca,  the  philosopher, 
is  by  some  thought  the  author  of  those  tragedies  (at  least  the 
best  of  them)  that  go  under  that  name.  Gregory  Nazianzen, 
a  Father  of  the  Church,  thought  it  not  unbeseeming  the  sanctity 
of  his  person  to  write  a  tragedy,  which  is  entitled  '  Christ 
Suffering.'  This  is  mentioned  to  vindicate  Tragedy  from  the 
small  esteem,  or  rather  infamy,  which  in  the  account  of  many 


\ 


1 88  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

it  undergoes  at  this  day  with  other  common  interludes ;  hap- 
pening through  the  poet's  error  of  intermixing  comic  stuff  with 
tragic  sadness  and  gravity,  or  introducing  trivial  and  vulgar 
persons  :  which  by  all  judicious  hath  been  counted  absurd,  and 
brought  in  without  discretion,  corruptly  to  gratify  the  people. 
And  though  ancient  Tragedy  use  no  Prologue,  yet  using  some- 
times, in  case  of  self-defence  or  explanation,  that  which  Martial 
calls  an  Epistle,  in  behalf  of  this  tragedy,  coming  forth  after 
the  ancient  manner,  much  different  from  what  among  us  passes 
for  best,  thus  much  beforehand  may  be  epistled,  —  that  Chorus 
is  here  introduced  after  the  Greek  manner,  not  ancient  only,  but 
modern,  and  still  in  use  among  the  Italians.  In  the  modelling 
therefore  of  this  poem,  with  good  reason,  the  Ancients  and 
Italians  are  rather  followed,  as  of  much  more  authority  and 
fame.  The  measure  of  verse  used  in  the  Chorus  is  of  all  sorts, 
called  by  the  Greeks  monostrophic,  or  rather  apolelytnenon, 
without  regard  had  to  strophe,  antistrophe,  or  epode, — 
which  were  a  kind  of  stanzas  framed  only  for  the  music,  then 
used  with  the  Chorus  that  sung ;  not  essential  to  the  poem,  and 
therefore  not  material  \  or,  being  divided  into  stanzas  or 
pauses,  they  may  be  called  alloeostropha.  Division  into  act 
and  scene,  referring  chiefly  to  the  stage  (to  which  this  work 
never  was  intended),  is  here  omitted. 

It  suffices  if  the  whole  drama  be  found  not  produced  beyond 
the  fifth  act.  Of  the  style  and  uniformity,  and  that  commonly 
called  the  plot,  whether  intricate  or  explicit,  —  which  is  nothing 
indeed  but  such  economy,  or  disposition  of  the  fable,  as  may 
stand  best  with  verisimilitude  and  decorum,  —  they  only  will 
best  judge  who  are  not  unacquainted  with  ^Eschylus,  Sopho- 
cles, and  Euripides,  the  three  tragic  poets  unequalled  yet  by 
any,  and  the  best  rule  to  all  who  endeavour  to  write  Tragedy. 
The  circumscription  of  time,  wherein  the  whole  drama  begins 
and  ends,  is,  according  to  ancient  rule  and  best  example, 
within  the  space  of  twenty- four  hours.  — M. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  189 


THE   ARGUMENT 

Samson,  made  captive,  blind,  and  now  in  the  prison  at  Gaza, 
there  to  labour  as  in  a  common  workhouse,  on  a  festival  day, 
in  the  general  cessation  from  labour,  comes  forth  into  the  open 
air,  to  a  place  nigh,  somewhat  retired,  there  to  sit  a  while  a?id 
bemoan  his  condition.  Where  he  happens  at  length  to  be 
visited  by  certain  frie7ids  and  equals  of  his  tribe,  which  make 
the  Chorus,  who  seek  to  comfort  him  what  they  can ;  then  by 
his  old  father,  Manoa,  who  endeavours  the  like,  and  withal  tells 
him  his  purpose  to  procure  his  liberty  by  ransom;  lastly,  that 
this  feast  was  proclaimed  by  the  Philistines  as  a  day  of  thanks- 
giving for  their  deliverance  from  the  hands  of  Sa?nson — which 
yet  more  troubles  him.  Manoa  then  departs  to  prosecute  his 
endeavour  with  the  Philistian  lords  for  Samson's  redemption  : 
who,  in  the  meanwhile,  is  visited  by  other  persons,  and,  lastly, 
by  a  public  officer  to  require  his  coming  to  the  feast  before  the 
lords  and  people,  to  play  or  show  his  strength  in  their  presence. 
He  at  first  refuses,  dismissing  the  public  officer  with  absolute 
defiial  to  come :  at  length,  persuaded  inwardly  that  this  was 
from  God,  he  yields  to  go  along  with  him,  who  came  now  the 
second  time  with  great  threatenings  to  fetch  him.  The  Chorus 
yet  remaining  on  the  place,  Manoa  returns  full  of  joyful  hope 
to  procure  ere  long  his  son's  deliverance  ;  in  the  midst  of  which 
discourse  an  Ebrew  comes  in  haste,  confusedly  at  first,  and 
afterwards  more  distinctly,  relating  the  catastrophe  —  what 
Samson  had  done  to  the  Philistines,  and  by  accident  to  himself) 
wherewith  the  Tragedy  ends. 


190  SAMSON  AGONISTES 


THE  PERSONS 

Samson. 

Manoa,  the  Father  of  Samson. 
Dalila,  his  wife. 
Harapha,  of  Gath. 
Public  Officer. 
Messenger. 
Chorus  of  Danites. 
The  Scene,  before  the  Prison  in  Gaza. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  191 


SAMSON   AGONISTES 

Samson.     A  little  onward  lend  thy  guiding  hand 
To  these  dark  steps,  a  little  further  on ; 
For  yonder  bank  hath  choice  of  sun  or  shade. 
There  I  am  wont  to  sit,  when  any  chance 
Relieves  me  from  my  task  of  servile  toil,  5 

Daily  in  the  common  prison  else  enjoined  me, 
Where  I,  a  prisoner  chained,  scarce  freely  draw 
The  air,  imprisoned  also,  close  and  damp, 
Unwholesome  draught.     But  here  I  feel  amends  — 
The  breath  of  heaven  fresh  blowing,  pure  and  sweet,       10 
With  day-spring  born ;  here  leave  me  to  respire. 
This  day  a  solemn  feast  the  people  hold 
To  Dagon,  their  sea-idol,  and  forbid 
Laborious  works.     Unwillingly  this  rest 
Their  superstition  yields  me  ;  hence  with  leave  15 

Retiring  from  the  popular  noise,  I  seek 
This  unfrequented  place  to  find  some  ease  — 
Ease  to  the  body  some,  none  to  the  mind 
From  restless  thoughts,  that,  like  a  deadly  swarm 
Of  hornets  armed,  no  sooner  found  alone  •    20 

But  rush  upon  me  thronging,  and  present 
Times  past,  what  once  I  was,  and  what  am  now. 
Oh,  wherefore  was  my  birth  from  Heaven  foretold 
Twice  by  an  Angel,  who  at  last,  in  sight 
Of  both  my  parents,  all  in  flames  ascended  25 

From  off  the  altar  where  an  offering  burned, 
As  in  a  fiery  column  charioting 
His  godlike  presence,  and  from  some  great  act 
Or  benefit  revealed  to  Abraham's  race  ? 


^2  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

Why  was  my  breeding  ordered  and  prescribed  30 

As  of  a  person  separate  to  God, 

Designed  for  great  exploits,  if  I  must  die 

Betrayed,  captived,  and  both  my  eyes  put  out, 

Made  of  my  enemies  the  scorn  and  gaze, 

To  grind  in  brazen  fetters  under  task  35 

With  this  heaven-gifted  strength  ?     O  glorious  strength, 

Put  to  the  labour  of  a  beast,  debased 

Lower  than  bond-slave  !     Promise  was  that  I 

Should  Israel  from  Philistian  yoke  deliver  ! 

Ask  for  this  great  deliverer  now,  and  find  him  40 

Eyeless,  in  Gaza,  at  the  mill,  with  slaves, 

Himself  in  bonds  under  Philistian  yoke. 

Yet  stay ;  let  me  not  rashly  call  in  doubt 

Divine  prediction.     What  if  all  foretold 

Had  been  fulfilled  but  through  mine  own  default  ?  45 

Whom  have  I  to  complain  of  but  myself, 

Who  this  high  gift  of  strength  committed  to  me, 

In  what  part  lodged,  how  easily  bereft  me, 

Under  the  seal  of  silence  could  not  keep, 

But  weakly  to  a  woman  must  reveal  it,  50 

O'ercome  with  importunity  and  tears  ? 

O  impotence  of  mind,  in  body  strong  ! 

But  what  is  strength  without  a  double  share 

Of  wisdom  ?  vast,  unwieldy,  burdensome, 

Proudly  secure,  yet  liable  to  fall  55 

By  weakest  subtleties ;  not  made  to  rule, 

But  to  subserve  where  wisdom  bears  command. 

God,  when  he  gave  me  strength,  to  show  withal 

How  slight  the  gift  was,  hung  it  in  my  hair. 

But  peace  !     I  must  not  quarrel  with  the  will  60 

Of  highest  dispensation,  which  herein 

Haply  had  ends  above  my  reach  to  know. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  1 93 

Suffices  that  to  me  strength  is  my  bane, 

And  proves  the  source  of  all  my  miseries  — 

So  many,  and  so  huge,  that  each  apart  65 

Would  ask  a  life  to  wail.     But  chief  of  all, 

O  loss  of  sight,  of  thee  I  most  complain  ! 

Blind  among  enemies  !     Oh  worse  than  chains, 

Dungeon,  or  beggary,  or  decrepit  age  ! 

Light,  the  prime  work  of  God,  to  me  is  extinct,  70 

And  all  her  various  objects  of  delight 

Annulled,  which  might  in  part  my  grief  have  eased. 

Inferior  to  the  vilest  now  become 

Of  man  or  worm,  the  vilest  here  excel  me  : 

They  creep,  yet  see  ;  I,  dark  in  light,  exposed  75 

To  daily  fraud,  contempt,  abuse,  and  wrong, 

Within  doors,  or  without,  still  as  a  fool, 

In  power  of  others,  never  in  my  own  — 

Scarce  half  I  seem  to  live,  dead  more  than  half. 

Oh  dark,  dark,  dark,  amid  the  blaze  of  noon,  80 

Irrecoverably  dark,  total  eclipse 

Without  all  hope  of  day  ! 

0  first  created  beam,  and  thou  great  Word, 

1  Let  there  be  light,  and  light  was  over  all,' 

x  'Why  am  I  thus  bereaved  thy  prime  decree ?  85 

NThe  sun  to  me  is  dark 

And  silent  as  the  moon, 

When  she  deserts  the  night, 

Hid  in  her  vacant  interlunar  cave. 


Since  light  so  necessary  is  to  life, 

And  almost  life  itself,  if  it  be  true 

That  light  is  in  the  soul, 

She  all  in  every  part,  why  was  the  sight 

To  such  a  tender  ball  as  the  eye  confined, 

So  obvious  and  so  easy  to  be  quenched,  95 


9o 


194  SAM  SO  IV  AGONISTES 

And  not,  as  feeling,  through  all  parts  diffused, 

That  she  might  look  at  will  through  every  pore  ? 
y'    Then  had  I  not  been  thus  exiled  from  light, 
\^As  in  the  land  of  darkness,  yet  in  light, 

To  live  a  life  half  dead,  a  living  death,  ioo 

And  buried  ;  but,  oh  yet  more  miserable  ! 

Myself,  my  sepulchre,  a  moving  grave ; 

Buried,  yet  not  exempt, 

By  privilege  of  death  and  burial, 

From  worst  of  other  evils,  pains  and  wrongs  ;  105 

But  made  hereby  obnoxious  more 

To  all  the  miseries  of  life, 

Life  in  captivity 

Among  inhuman  foes. 

But  who  are  these?  for  with  joint  pace  I  hear  no 

The  tread  of  many  feet  steering  this  way ; 

Perhaps  my  enemies,  who  come  to  stare 

At  my  affliction,  and  perhaps  to  insult  — 

Their  daily  practice  to  afflict  me  more. 

Chorus.     This,  this  is  he  ;  softly  a  while ;  115 

Let  us  not  break  in  upon  him. 

Oh  change  beyond  report,  thought,  or  belief ! 

See  how  he  lies  at  random,  carelessly  diffused, 

With  languished  head  unpropt, 

As  one  past  hope,  abandoned,  120 

And  by  himself  given  over, 

In  slavish  habit,  ill-fitted  weeds 

O'er-worn  and  soiled. 

Or  do  my  eyes  misrepresent  ?    Can  this  be  he, 

That  heroic,  that  renowned,  125 

Irresistible  Samson?  whom  unarmed, 

No  strength  of  man,  or  fiercest  wild  beast,  could  withstand  ; 

Who  tore  the  lion,  as  the  lion  tears  the  kid ; 


SAMSON  AG  ONI  ST ES  1 95 

Ran  on  embattled  armies  clad  in  iron, 

And,  weaponless  himself,  130 

Made  arms  ridiculous,  useless  the  forgery 

Of  brazen  shield  and  spear,  the  hammered  cuirass, 

Chalybean-tempered  steel,  and  frock  of  mail 

Adamantean  proof; 

But  safest  he  who  stood  aloof,  135 

When  insupportably  his  foot  advanced, 

In  scorn  of  their  proud  arms  and  warlike  tools, 

Spurned  them  to  death  by  troops.     The  bold  Ascalonite 

Fled  from  his  lion  ramp ;  old  warriors  turned 

Their  plated  backs  under  his  heel,  140 

Or  grovelling  soiled  their  crested  helmets  in  the  dust. 

Then  with  what  trivial  weapon  came  to  hand, 

The  jaw  of  a  dead  ass,  his  sword  of  bone, 

A  thousand  foreskins  fell,  the  flower  of  Palestine, 

In  Ramath-lechi,  famous  to  this  day.  145 

Then  by  main  force  pulled  up,  and  on  his  shoulders  bore, 

The  gates  of  Azza,  post  and  massy  bar, 

Up  to  the  hill  by  Hebron,  seat  of  giants  old, 

No  journey  of  a  sabbath-day,  and  loaded  so ; 

Like  whom  the  Gentiles  feign  to  bear  up  Heaven.  150 

Which  shall  I  first  bewail, 

Thy  bondage  or  lost  sight? 

Prison  within  prison 

Inseparably  dark. 

Thou  art  become  (Oh  worst  imprisonment !)  155 

The  dungeon  of  thyself;  thy  soul 

(Which  men  enjoying  sight  oft  without  cause  complain) 

Imprisoned  now  indeed, 

In  real  darkness  of  the  body  dwells, 

Shut  up  from  outward  light  160 

To  incorporate  with  gloomy  night ; 


196  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

For  inward  light,  alas  ! 
Puts  forth  no  visual  beam. 

0  mirror  of  our  fickle  state, 

Since  man  on  earth  unparalleled,  165 

The  rarer  thy  example  stands, 

By  how  much  from  the  top  of  wondrous  glory, 

Strongest  of  mortal  men, 

To  lowest  pitch  of  abject  fortune  thou  art  fallen. 

For  him  I  reckon  not  in  high  estate  1 70 

Whom  long  descent  of  birth 

Or  the  sphere  of  fortune  raises  ; 

But  thee,  whose  strength,  while  virtue  was  her  mate, 

Might  have  subdued  the  earth, 

Universally  crowned  with  highest  praises.  1 75 

Samson.   I  hear  the  sound  of  words  ;  their  sense  the  air 
Dissolves  unjointed  ere  it  reach  my  ear. 

Chorus.   He  speaks,  let  us  draw  nigh.    Matchless  in  might, 
The  glory  late  of  Israel,  now  the  grief ! 
We  come,  thy  friends  and  neighbours  not  unknown,  180 

From  Eshtaol  and  Zora's  fruitful  vale, 
To  visit  or  bewail  thee ;  or,  if  better, 
Counsel  or  consolation  we  may  bring, 
Salve  to  thy  sores ;  apt  words  have  power  to  swage 
The  tumours  of  a  troubled  mind,  185 

And  are  as  balm  to  festered  wounds. 

Samson.   Your  coming,  friends,  revives  me ;  for  I  learn 
Now  of  my  own  experience,  not  by  talk, 
How  counterfeit  a  coin  they  are  who  '  friends ' 
Bear  in  their  superscription  (of  the  most  190 

1  would  be  understood).    In  prosperous  days 
They  swarm,  but  in  adverse  withdraw  their  head, 
Not  to  be  found,  though  sought.     Ye  see,  O  friends, 
How  many  evils  have  enclosed  me  round ; 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  1 97 

Yet  that  which  was  the  worst  now  least  afflicts  me,        195 

Blindness ;  for  had  I  sight,  confused  with  shame, 

How  could  I  once  look  up,  or  heave  the  head, 

Who,  like  a  foolish  pilot,  have  shipwracked 

My  vessel  trusted  to  me  from  above, 

Gloriously  rigged  ;  and  for  a  word,  a  tear,  200 

Fool !  have  divulged  the  secret  gift  of  God 

To  a  deceitful  woman?  tell  me,  friends, 

Am  I  not  sung  and  proverbed  for  a  fool 

In  every  street?  do  they  not  say,  'how  well 

Are  come  upon  him  his  deserts? '  yet  why?  205 

Immeasurable  strength  they  might  behold 

In  me,  of  wisdom  nothing  more  than  mean. 

This  with  the  other  should,  at  least,  have  paired ; 

These  two,  proportioned  ill,  drove  me  transverse. 

Chorus.   Tax  not  divine  disposal.    Wisest  men  210 

Have  erred,  and  by  bad  women  been  deceived ; 
And  shall  again,  pretend  they  ne'er  so  wise. 
Deject  not,  then,  so  overmuch  thyself, 
Who  hast  of  sorrow  thy  full  load  besides. 
Yet,  truth  to  say,  I  oft  have  heard  men  wonder  215 

Why  thou  shouldst  wed  Philistian  women  rather 
Than  of  thine  own  tribe  fairer,  or  as  fair, 
At  least  of  thy  own  nation,  and  as  noble. 

Samson.  The  first  I  saw  at  Timna,  and  she  pleased 
Me,  not  my  parents,  that  I  sought  to  wed  220 

The  daughter  of  an  infidel.     They  knew  not 
That  what  I  motioned  was  of  God  ;  I  knew 
From  intimate  impulse,  and  therefore  urged 
The  marriage  on,  that,  by  occasion  hence, 
I  might  begin  Israel's  deliverance —  225 

The  work  to  which  I  was  divinely  called. 
She  proving  false,  the  next  I  took  to  wife 


198  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

(Oh  that  I  never  had  !  fond  wish  too  late  !) 

Was  in  the  vale  of  Sorec,  Dalila, 

That  specious  monster,  my  accomplished  snare.  230 

I  thought  it  lawful  from  my  former  act, 

And  the  same  end,  still  watching  to  oppress 

Israel's  oppressors.     Of  what  now  I  suffer 

She  was  not  the  prime  cause,  but  I  myself, 

Who,  vanquished  with  a  peal  of  words  (oh  weakness  !)     235 

Gave  up  my  fort  of  silence  to  a  woman. 

Chorus.    In  seeking  just  occasion  to  provoke 
The  Philistine,  thy  country's  enemy, 
Thou  never  wast  remiss,  I  bear  thee  witness  : 
Yet  Israel  still  serves  with  all  his  sons.  240 

Samson.  That  fault  I  take  not  on  me,  but  transfer 
On  Israel's  governors  and  heads  of  tribes, 
Who,  seeing  those  great  acts  which  God  had  done 
Singly  by  me  against  their  conquerors, 

Acknowledged  not,  or  not  at  all  considered,  245 

Deliverance  offered.    I,  on  the  other  side, 
Used  no  ambition  to  commend  my  deeds ; 
The  deeds  themselves,  though  mute,  spoke  loud  the  doer. 
But  they  persisted  deaf,  and  would  not  seem 
To  count  them  things  worth  notice,  till  at  length  250 

Their  lords,  the  Philistines,  with  gathered  powers, 
Entered  Judea,  seeking  me,  who  then 
Safe  to  the  rock  of  Etham  was  retired  — 
Not  flying,  but  forecasting  in  what  place 
To  set  upon  them,  what  advantaged  best.  255 

Meanwhile  the  men  of  Judah,  to  prevent 
The  harass  of  their  land,  beset  me  round ; 
I  willingly  on  some  conditions  came 
Into  their  hands,  and  they  as  gladly  yield  me 
To  the  Uncircumcised  a  welcome  prey,  260 


SAMSON  AGONIST ES 


199 


Bound  with  two  cords.     But  cords  to  me  were  threads 

Touched  with  the  flame  :  on  their  whole  host  I  flew 

Unarmed,  and  with  a  trivial  weapon  felled 

Their  choicest  youth  ;  they  only  lived  who  fled. 

Had  Judah  that  day  joined,  or  one  whole  tribe,  265 

They  had  by  this  possessed  the  towers  of  Gath, 

And  lorded  over  them  whom  they  now  serve. 

But  what  more  oft  in  nations  grown  corruptA 

And  by  their  vices  brought  to  servitude,  \ 

Than  to  love  bondage  more  than  liberty —        /  270 

Bondage  with  ease  than  strenuous  liberty  —    / 

And  to  despise,  or  envy,  or  suspect, 

Whom  God  hath  of  his  special  favour  raised 

As  their  deliverer?     If  he  aught  begin, 

How  frequent  to  desert  him,  and  at  last  275 

To  heap  ingratitude  on  worthiest  deeds  ! 

Chorus.    Thy  words  to  my  remembrance  bring 
How  Succoth  and  the  fort  of  Penuel 
Their  great  deliverer  contemned, 

The  matchless  Gideon,  in  pursuit  280 

Of  Madian,  and  her  vanquished  kings ; 
And  how  ingrateful  Ephraim 
Had  dealt  with  Jephtha,  who  by  argument, 
Not  worse  than  by  his  shield  and  spear, 

Defended  Israel  from  the  Ammonite,  285 

Had  not  his  prowess  quelled  their  pride 
In  that  sore  battle  when  so  many  died 
Without  reprieve,  adjudged  to  death, 
For  want  of  well  pronouncing  Shibboleth. 

Samson.   Of  such  examples  add  me  to  the  roll.  290 

Me  easily  indeed  mine  may  neglect, 
But  God's  proposed  deliverance  not  so. 

Chorus.   Just  are  the  ways  of  God, 


200  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

And  justifiable  to  men, 

Unless  there  be  who  think  not  God  at  all.  295 

If  any  be,  they  walk  obscure ; 
/For  of  such  doctrine  never  was  there  school 
/  But  the  heart  of  the  fool, 
\    And  no  man  therein  doctor  but  himself. 

Yet  more  there  be  who  doubt  his  ways  not  just,        300 
As  to  his  own  edicts  found  contradicting ; 
Then  give  the  reins  to  wandering  thought, 
Regardless  of  his  glory's  diminution, 
Till,  by  their  own  perplexities  involved, 
They  ravel  more,  still  less  resolved,  305 

But  never  find  self-satisfying  solution. 

As  if  they  would  confine  the  Interminable, 
And  tie  him  to  his  own  prescript, 
Who  made  our  laws  to  bind  us,  not  himself, 
And  hath  full  right  to  exempt  310 

Whomso  it  pleases  him  by  choice 
From  national  obstriction,  without  taint 
Of  sin,  or  legal  debt ; 
For  with  his  own  laws  he  can  best  dispense. 

He  would  not  else,  who  never  wanted  means,  315 

Nor  in  respect  of  the  enemy  just  cause, 
To  set  his  people  free, 
Have  prompted  this  heroic  Nazarite, 
Against  his  vow  of  strictest  purity, 
To  seek  in  marriage  that  fallacious  bride,  320 

r Unclean,  unchaste. 
Down,  Reason,  then ;  at  least,  vain  reasonings,  down ; 
Though  Reason  here  aver 
That  moral  verdict  quits  her  of  unclean  : 
Unchaste  was  subsequent,  her  stain  not  his.  325 

But  see  !  here  comes  thy  reverend  sire, 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  201 

With  careful  step,  locks  white  as  down, 

Old  Manoa  :  advise  \ <~"^L,  fr  . ' 

Forthwith  how  thou  ought'st  to  receive  him. 

Samson.   Ay  me  !  another  inward  grief,  awaked  330 

With  mention  of  that  name,  renews  the  assault. 

Manoa.   Brethren  and  men  of  Dan  (for  such  ye  seem, 
'hough  in  this  uncouth>place),  if  old  respect, 
As  I  suppose,  towards  your  once  gloried  friend, 
My  son,  now  captive,  hither  hath  informed  335 

Your  younger  feet,  while  mine,  cast  back  with  age, 
Came  lagging  after,  say  if  he  be  here. 

Chorus.   As  signal  now  in  low  dejected  state, 
As  erst  in  highest,  behold  him  where  he  lies. 

Manoa.   Oh  miserable  change  !  is  this  the  man  ?  340 

That  invincible  Samson,  far  renowned, 
The  dread  of  Israel's  foes,  who  with  a  strength 
Equivalent  to  Angels',  walked  their  streets, 
None  offering  fight ;  who,  single  combatant, 
Duelled  their  armies  ranked  in  proud  array,  345 

Himself  an  army,  now  unequal  match 
To  save  himself  against  a  coward  armed 
At  one  spear's  length.     Oh  ever-failing  trust 
In  mortal  strength  !  and  oh,  what  not  in  man 
Deceivable  and  vain?     Nay,  what  thing  good  350 

Prayed  for,  but  often  proves  our  woe,  our  bane  ? 
I  prayed  for  children,  and  thought  barrenness 
In  wedlock  a  reproach ;  I  gained  a  son, 
And  such  a  son  as  all  men  hailed  me  happy. 
Who  would  be  now  a  father  in  my  stead?  355 

Oh,  wherefore  did  God  grant  me  my  request, 
And  as  a  blessing  with  such  pomp  adorned? 
Why  are  his  gifts  desirable,  to  tempt 
Our  earnest  prayers,  then,  given  with  solemn  hand 


202  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

# 

As  graces,  draw  a  scorpion's  tail  behind?  360 

For  this  did  the  Angel  twice  descend  ?  for  this 

Ordained  thy  nurture  holy,  as  of  a  plant 

Select  and  sacred  ?  glorious  for  a  while, 

The  miracle  of  men  ;  then  in  an  hour 

Ensnared,  assaulted,  overcome,  led  bound,  365 

Thy  foes'  derision,  captive,  poor  and  blind, 

Into  a  dungeon  thrust,  to  work  with  slaves  ! 

Alas  !  methinks  whom  God  hath  chosen  once 

To  worthiest  deeds,  if  he  through  frailty  err, 

He  should  not  so  o'erwhelm,  and  as  a  thrall  370 

Subject  him  to  so  foul  indignities, 

Be  it  but  for  honour's  sake  of  former  deeds. 

Samson.   Appoint  not  heavenly  disposition,  father. 
Nothing  of  all  these  evils  hath  befallen  me 
But  justly ;  I  myself  have  brought  them  on  j  375 

Sole  author  I,  sole  cause.     If  aught  seem  vile, 
As  vile  hath  been  my  folly,  who  have  profaned 
The  mystery  of  God,  given  me  under  pledge 
Of  vow,  and  have  betrayed  it  to  a  woman, 
A  Canaanite,  my  faithless  enemy.  380 

This  well  I  knew,  nor  was  at  all  surprised, 
But  warned  by  oft  experience.     Did  not  she 
Of  Timna  first  betray  me,  and  reveal 
The  secret  wrested  from  me  in  her  highth 
Of  nuptial  love  professed,  carrying  it  straight  385 

To  them  who  had  corrupted  her,  my  spies 
And  rivals  ?     In  this  other  was  there  found 
More  faith,  who,  also  in  her  prime  of  love, 
Spousal  embraces,  vitiated  with  gold, 
Though  offered  only,  by  the  scent  conceived  390 

Her  spurious  first-born,  Treason  against  me? 
Thrice  she  assayed,  with  flattering  prayers  and  sighs 


SAM  SO  IV  AG  ONI  ST ES  203 

And  amorous  reproaches,  to  win  from  me 

My  capital  secret,  in  what  part  my  strength 

Lay  stored,  in  what  part  summed,  that  she  might  know ;  395 

Thrice  I  deluded  her,  and  turned  to  sport 

Her  importunity,  each  time  perceiving 

How  openly  and  with  what  impudence 

She  purposed  to  betray  me,  and  (which  was  worse 

Than  undissembled  hate)  with  what  contempt  400 

She  sought  to  make  me  traitor  to  myself. 

Yet,  the  fourth  time,  when,  mustering  all  her  wiles, 

With  blandished  parleys,  feminine  assaults, 

Tongue-batteries,  she  surceased  not  day  nor  night 

To  storm  me,  over- watched,  and  wearied  out,  405 

At  times  when  men  seek  most  repose  and  rest, 

I  yielded,  and  unlocked  her  all  my  heart, 

Who,  with  a  grain  of  manhood  well  resolved, 

Might  easily  have  shook  off  all  her  snares  ; 

But  foul  effeminacy  held  me  yoked  410 

Her  bond-slave.     Oh  indignity,  oh  blot 

To  honour  and  religion  !  servile  mind 

Rewarded  well  with  servile  punishment ! 

The  base  degree  to  which  I  now  am  fallen, 

These  rags,  this  grinding,  is  not  yet  so  base  415 

As  was  my  former  servitude,  ignoble, 

Unmanly,  ignominious,  infamous, 

True  slavery ;  and  that  blindness  worse  than  this, 

That  saw  not  how  degenerately  I  served..  ^^<*         \ 

Manoa.    I  cannot  praise  thy  marriage-choices,  son\    420 
Rather  approved  them  not ;  but  thou  didst  plead 
Divine  impulsion  prompting  how  thou  might'st 
Find  some  occasion  to  infest  our  foes. 
I  state  not  that ;  this  I  am  sure  —  our  foes 
Found  soon  occasion  thereby  to  make  thee  425 


204 


SAMSON  AGONISTES 

Their  captive,  and  their  triumph ;  thou  the  sooner 

Temptation  found'st,  or  over-potent  charms, 

To  violate  the  sacred  trust  of  silence 

Deposited  within  thee  —  which  to  have  kept 

Tacit,  was  in  thy  power  j  true  j  and  thou  bear'st       430 

Enough,  and  more,  the  burden  of  that  fault ; 

Bitterly  hast  thou  paid,  and  still  art  paying, 

That  rigid  score.     A  worse  thing  yet  remains  : 

This  day  the  Philistines  a  popular  feast 

Here  celebrate  in  Gaza,  and  proclaim  435 

Great  pomp,  and  sacrifice,  and  praises  loud, 

To  Dagon,  as  their  god  who  hath  delivered   ■ 

Thee,  Samson,  bound  and  blind,  into  ,their  hands, 

Them  out  of  thine,  who  slew'st  them  many  a  slain. 

So  Dagon  shall  be  magnified,  and  God  440 

Besides  whom  is  no  god,  compared  with  idols, 

Disglorified,  blasphemed,  and  had  in  scorn 

By  the  idolatrous  rout  amidst  their  wine ; 

Which  to  have  come  to  pass  by  means  of  thee, 

Samson,  of  all  thy  sufferings  think  the  heaviest,  445 

Of  all  reproach  the  most  with  shame  that  ever 

Could  have  befallen  thee  and  thy  father's  house. 

Samson.    Father,  I  do  acknowledge  and  confess 
That  I  this  honour,  I  this  pomp,  have  brought 
To  Dagon,  and  advanced  his  praises  high  450 

Among  the  Heathen  round ;  to  God  have  brought 
Dishonour,  obloquy,  and  oped  the  mouths 
Of  idolists  and  atheists  ;  have  brought  scandal 
To  Israel,  diffidence  of  God,  and  doubt 
In  feeble  hearts,  propense  enough  before  455 

To  waver,  or  fall  off  and  join  with  idols ; 
Which  is  my  chief  affliction,  shame  and  sorrow, 
The  anguish  of  my  soul,  that  suffers  not 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  >    205 

Mine  eye  to  harbour  sleep,  or  thoughts  to  rest. 

This  only  hope  relieves  me,  that  the  strife  460 

With  me  hath  end ;  all  the  contest  is  now 

'Tvvixt  God  and  Dagon.     Dagon  hath  presumed, 

Me  overthrown,  to  enter  lists  with  God, 

His  deity  comparing  and  preferring 

Before  the  God  of  Abraham.     He,  be  sure,  465 

Will  not  connive,  or  linger,  thus  provoked, 

But  will  arise  and  his  great  name  assert. 

Dagon  must  stoop,  and  shall  ere  long  receive 

Such  a  discomfit,  as  shall  quite  despoil  him 

Of  all  these  boasted  trophies  won  on  me,  470 

And  with  confusion  blank  his  worshippers. 

Manoa.   With  cause  this  hope  relieves  thee,  and  these  words 
I  as  a  prophecy  receive ;  for  God 
(Nothing  more  certain)  will  not  long  defer 
To  vindicate  the  glory  of  his  name  475 

Against  all  competition,  nor  will  long 
Endure  it  doubtful  whether  God  be  Lord, 
Or  Dagon.     But  for  thee  what  shall  be  done  ? 
Thou  must  not  in  the  mean  while,  here  forgot, 
Lie  in  this  miserable  loathsome  plight  480 

Neglected.     I  already  have  made  way 
To  some  Philistian  lords,  with  whom  to  treat 
About  thy  ransom  :   well  they  may  by  this 
Have  satisfied  their  utmost  of  revenge, 

By  pains  and  slaveries,  worse  than  death,  inflicted  485 

On  thee,  who  now  no  more  canst  do  them  harm. 

Samson.   Spare  that  proposal,  father ;  spare  the  trouble 
Of  that  solicitation.     Let  me  here, 
As  I  deserve,  pay  on  my  punishment, 

And  expiate,  if  possible,  my  crime,  490 

Shameful  garrulity.    To  have  revealed 


206  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

Secrets  of  men,  the  secrets  of  a  friend, 

How  heinous  had  the  fact  been,  how  deserving 

Contempt  and  scorn  of  all  —  to  be  excluded 

All  friendship,  and  avoided  as  a  blab,  495 

The  mark  of  fool  set  on  his  front  ! 

But  I  God's  counsel  have  not  kept,  his  holy  secret 

Presumptuously  have  published,  impiously, 

Weakly  at  least,  and  shamefully  —  a  sin 

That  Gentiles  in  their  parables  condemn  500 

To  their  Abyss  and  horrid  pains  confined. 

Manoa.   Be  penitent,  and  for  thy  fault  contrite ; 
But  act  not  in  thy  own  affliction,  son. 
Repent  the  sin  ;  but,  if  the  punishment 
Thou  canst  avoid,  self-preservation  bids ;  505 

Or  the  execution  leave  to  high  disposal, 
And  let  another  hand,  not  thine,  exact 
Thy  penal  forfeit  from  thyself.     Perhaps 
God  will  relent,  and  quit  thee  all  his  debt ; 
Who  ever  more  approves  and  more  accepts  510 

(Best  pleased  with  humble  and  filial  submission) 
Him  who,  imploring  mercy,  sues  for  life, 
Than  who,  self-rigorous,  chooses  death  as  due ; 
Which  argues  over-just,  and  self-displeased 
For  self-offence,  more  than  for  God  offended.  515 

Reject  not,  then,  what  offered  means.     Who  knows 
But  God  hath  set  before  us  to  return  thee 
Home  to  thy  country  and  his  sacred  house, 
Where  thou  mayst  bring  thy  offerings,  to  avert 
His  further  ire,  with  prayers  and  vows  renewed?        520 

Samson.   His  pardon  I  implore  ;  but  as  for  life, 
To  what  end  should  I  seek  it  ?  when  in  strength 
All  mortals  I  excelled,  and  great  in  hopes, 
With  youthful  courage,  and  magnanimous  thoughts 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  20y 

Of  birth  from  Heaven  foretold  and  high  exploits,  525 

Full  of  divine  instinct,  after  some  proof 

Of  acts  indeed  heroic,  far  beyond 

The  sons  of  Anak,  famous  now  and  blazed, 

Fearless  of  danger,  like  a  petty  god 

I  walked  about,  admired  of  all,  and  dreaded  530 

On  hostile  ground,  none  daring  my  affront  — 

Then,  swollen  with  pride,  into  the  snare  I  fell 

Of  fair  fallacious  looks,  venereal  trains, 

Softened  with  pleasure  and  voluptuous  life, 

At  length  to  lay  my  head  and  hallowed  pledge  535 

Of  all  my  strength  in  the  lascivious  lap 

Of  a  deceitful  concubine,  who  shore  me 

Like  a  tame  wether,  all  my  precious  fleece, 

Then  turned  me  out  ridiculous,  despoiled, 

Shaven,  and  disarmed  among  mine  enemies.  540 

Chorus.   Desire  of  wine  and  all  delicious  drinks, 
Which  many  a  famous  warrior  overturns, 
Thou  could'st  repress ;  nor  did  the  dancing  ruby 
Sparkling,  out-poured,  the  flavour,  or  the  smell, 
Or  taste  that  cheers  the  heart  of  gods  and  men,  545 

Allure  thee  from  the  cool  crystalline  stream. 

Samson.   Wherever  fountain  or  fresh  current  flowed 
Against  the  eastern  ray,  translucent,  pure 
With  touch  ethereal  of  Heaven's  fiery  rod, 
I  drank,  from  the  clear  milky  juice  allaying  550 

Thirst,  and  refreshed ;  nor  envied  them  the  grape 
Whose  heads  that  turbulent  liquor  fills  with  fumes. 

Chorus.   Oh  madness  !  to  think  use  of  strongest  wines 
And  strongest  drinks  our  chief  support  of  health, 
When  God  with  these  forbidden  made  choice  to  rear    555 
His  mighty  champion,  strong  above  compare, 
Whose  drink  was  only  from  the  liquid  brook  ! 


208  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

Samson.   But  what  availed  this  temperance,  not  complete 
Against  another  object  more  enticing? 

What  boots  it  at  one  gate  to  make  defence,  560 

And  at  another  to  let  in  the  foe, 
Effeminately  vanquished  ?  by  which  means, 
Now  blind,  disheartened,  shamed,  dishonoured,  quelled, 
To  what  can  I  be  useful  ?  wherein  serve 

My  nation,  and  the  work  from  Heaven  imposed?  565 

But  to  sit  idle  on  the  household  hearth, 
A  burdenous  drone  ;  to  visitants  a  gaze, 
Or  pitied  object ;  these  redundant  locks, 
Robustious  to  no  purpose,  clustering  down, 
Vain  monument  of  strength ;  till  length  of  years  5  70 

And  sedentary  numbness  craze  my  limbs 
To  a  contemptible  old  age  obscure. 
Here  rather  let  me  drudge,  and  earn  my  bread, 
Till  vermin,  or  the  draff  of  servile  food, 

Consume  me,  and  oft-invocated  death  575 

Hasten  the  welcome  end  of  all  my  pains. 

Manoa.   Wilt  thou  then  serve  the  Philistines  with  that  gift 
Which  was  expressly  given  thee  to  annoy  them  ? 
Better  at  home  lie  bed-rid,  not  only  idle, 

Inglorious,  unemployed,  with  age  outworn.  580 

But  God,  who  caused  a  fountain  at  thy  prayer 
From  the  dry  ground  to  spring,  thy  thirst  to  allay 
After  the  brunt  of  battle,  can  as  easy 
Cause  light  again  within  thy  eyes  to  spring, 
Wherewith  to  serve  him  better  than  thou  hast.  585 

And  I  persuade  me  so.     Why  else  this  strength 
Miraculous  yet  remaining  in  those  locks  ? 
His  might  continues  in  thee  not  for  nought, 
Nor  shall  his  wondrous  gifts  be  frustrate  thus. 

Samson.   All  otherwise  to  me  my  thoughts  portend  —      590 


;V* 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  2O9 

That  these  dark  orbs  no  more  shall  treat  with  light, 

Nor  the  other  light  of  life  continue  long, 

But  yield  to  double  darkness  nigh  at  hand ; 

So  much  I  feel  my  genial  spirits  droop, 

My  hopes  all  flat :  Nature  within  me  seems  595 

In  all  her  functions  weary  of  herself; 

My  race  of  glory  run,  and  race  of  shame, 

And  I  shall  shortly  be  with  them  that  rest. 

Manoa.   Believe  not  these  suggestions,  which  proceed 
From  anguish  of  the  mind,  and  humours  black  600 

That  mingle  with  thy  fancy.     I,  however, 
Must  not  omit  a  father's  timely  care 
To  prosecute  the  means  of  thy  deliverance 
By  ransom  or  how  else.     Mean  while  be  calm, 
And  healing  words  from  these  thy  friends  admit.  605 

Samson.    Oh,  that  torment  should  not  be  confined 
To  the  body's  wounds  and  sores, 
With  maladies  innumerable 
In  heart,  head,  breast,  and  reins, 

But  must  secret  passage  find  610 

To  the  inmost  mind, 
There  exercise  all  his  fierce  accidents, 
And  on  her  purest  spirits  prey, 
As  on  entrails,  joints,  and  limbs, 

With  answerable  pains,  but  more  intense,  615 

Though  void  of  corporal  sense  ! 

My  griefs  not  only  pain  me 
As  a  lingering  disease, 
But,  finding  no  redress,  ferment  and  rage ; 
Nor  less  than  wounds  immedicable  620 

Rankle,  and  fester,  and  gangrene, 
To  black  mortification. 
Thoughts,  my  tormentors,  armed  with  deadly  stings, 


210  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

Mangle  my  apprehensive  tenderest  parts, 

Exasperate,  exulcerate,  and  raise  625 

Dire  inflammation,  which  no  cooling  herb 

Or  medicinal  liquor  can  assuage, 

Nor  breath  of  vernal  air  from  snowy  Alp. 

Sleep  hath  forsook  and  given  me  o'er 

To  death's  benumbing  opium  as  my  only  cure ;         630 

Thence  faintings,  swoonings  of  despair, 

And  sense  of  Heaven's  desertion. 

I  was  his  nursling  once  and  choice  delight, 
His,  destined  from  the  womb, 

Promised  by  heavenly  message  twice  descending.      635 
Under  his  special  eye 
Abstemious  I  grew  up  and  thrived  amain ; 
He  led  me  on  to  mightiest  deeds, 
Above  the  nerve  of  mortal  arm, 

Against  the  Uncircumcised,  our  enemies  :  640 

But  now  hath  cast  me  off  as  never  known, 
And  to  those  cruel  enemies, 
Whom  I  by  his  appointment  had  provoked, 
Left  me  all  helpless,  with  the  irreparable  loss 
Of  sight,  reserved  alive  to  be  repeated  645 

The  subject  of  their  cruelty  or  scorn. 
Nor  am  I  in  the  list  of  them  that  hope ; 
Hopeless  are  all  my  evils,  all  remediless. 
This  one  prayer  yet  remains,  might  I  be  heard, 
No  long  petition,  speedy  death,  650 

The  close  of  all  my  miseries,  and  the  balm. 

Chorus.   Many  are  the  sayings  of  the  wise, 
In  ancient  and  in  modern  books  enrolled, 
Extolling  patience  as  the  truest  fortitude, 
And  to  the  bearing  well  of  all  calamities,  655 

All  chances  incident  to  man's  frail  life, 


SAMSON  A  G ONISTES  2 1 1 

Consolatories  writ 

With  studied  argument,  and  much  persuasion  sought, 

Lenient  of  grief  and  anxious  thought. 

But  with' the  afflicted  in  his  pangs  their  sound  660 

Little  prevails,  or  rather  seems  a  tune 

Harsh,  and  of  dissonant  mood  from  his  complaint, 

Unless  he  feel  within 

Some  source  of  consolation  from  above, 

Secret  refreshings  that  repair  his  strength  665 

And  fainting  spirits  uphold. 

God  of  our  fathers  !  what  is  Man, 
That  thou  towards  him  with  hand  so  various — 
Or  might  I  say  contrarious  ?  — 

Temper'st  thy  providence  through  his  short  course  :  670 

Not  evenly,  as  thou  rul'st 

The  angelic  orders,  and  inferior  creatures  mute, 
Irrational  and  brute? 
Nor  do  I  name  of  men  the  common  rout, 
That,  wand'ring  loose  about,  675 

Grow  up  and  perish,  as  the  summer  fly, 
Heads  without  name,  no  more  remembered ; 
But  such  as  thou  hast  solemnly  elected, 
With  gifts  and  graces  eminently  adorned,  f 

To  some  great  work,  thy  glory,  680 

And  people's  safety,  which  in  part  they  effect. 
Yet  toward  these  thus  dignified,  thou  oft, 
Amidst  their  highth  of  noon, 

Changest  thy  countenance  and  thy  hand,  with  no  regard 
Of  highest  favours  past  685 

From  thee  on  them,  or  them  to  thee  of  service. 

Nor  only  dost  degrade  them,  or  remit 
To  life  obscured,  which  were  a  fair  dismission, 
But  throw'st  them  lower  than  thou  didst  exalt  them  high  — 


J 


212  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

Unseemly  falls  in  human  eye,  690 

Too  grievous  for  the  trespass  or  omission  ; 

Oft  leav'st  them  to  the  hostile  sword 

Of  heathen  and  profane,  their  carcasses 

To  dogs  and  fowls  a  prey,  or  else  captived, 

Or  to  the  unjust  tribunals,  under  change  of  times, 

And  condemnation  of  the  ingrateful  multitude. 

If  these  they  scape,  perhaps  in  poverty 

With  sickness  and  disease  thou  bow'st  them  down, 

Painful  diseases  and  deformed, 

In  crude  old  age ;  /  7°° 

Though  not  disordinate,  yet  causeless  suffering 

The  punishment  of  dissolute  days.     In  fine, 

Just  or  unjust  alike  seem  miserable, 

For  oft  alike  both  come  to  evil  end. 

So  deal  not  with  this  once  thy  glorious  champion,     705 
The  image  of  thy  strength,  and  mighty  minister. 
What  do  I  beg  ?  how  hast  thou  dealt  already  ! 
Behold  him  in  this  state  calamitous,  and  turn 
His  labours,  for  thou  canst,  to  peaceful  end. 

But  who  is  this?  what  thing  of  sea  or  land?  710 

—  Female  of  sex  it  seems  — 
That  so  bedecked,  ornate,  and  gay, 
Comes  this  way  sailing, 
Like  a  stately  ship 

Of  Tarsus,  bound  for  the  isles  715 

Of  Javan  or  Gadire, 

With  all  her  bravery  on,  and  tackle  trim, 
Sails  filled,  and  streamers  waving, 
Courted  by  all  the  winds  that  hold  them  play, 
An  amber  scent  of  odorous  perfume  720 

Her  harbinger,  a  damsel  train  behind  ; 
Some  rich  Philistian  matron  she  may  seem, 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  213 

And  now,  at  nearer  view,  no  other  certain 

Than  Dalila  thy  wife.  724 

Samson.   My  wife  ?  my  traitress ;  let  her  not  come  near  me. 

Chorus.   Yet  on  she  moves  ;  now  stands  and  eyes  thee  fixed, 
About  to  have  spoke  ;  but  now,  with  head  declined, 
Like  a  fair  flower  surcharged  with  dew,  she  weeps, 
And  words  addressed  seem  into  tears  dissolved, 
Wetting  the  borders  of  her  silken  veil.  y  730 

But  now  again  she  makes  address  to  speak. 

Dalila.   With  doubtful  feet  and  wavering  resolution 
I  came,  still  dreading  thy  displeasure,  Samson, 
Which  to  have  merited,  without  excuse, 
I  cannot  but  acknowledge ;  yet  if  tears  735 

May  expiate  (though  the  fact  more  evil  drew 
In  the  perverse  event  than  I  foresaw) , 
My  penance  hath  not  slackened,  though  my  pardon 
No  way  assured.     But  conjugal  affection, 
Prevailing  over  fear  and  timorous  doubt,  740 

Hath  led  me  on,  desirous  to  behold 
Once  more  thy  face,  and  know  of  thy  estate, 
If  aught  in  my  ability  may  serve 
To  lighten  what  thou  sufferest,  and  appease 
Thy  mind  with  what  amends  is  in  my  power, 
Though  late,  yet  in  some  part  to  recompense 
My  rash  but  more  unfortunate  misdeed.  «. 

Samson.   Out,  out,  hyaena  !  these  are  thy  wonted  arts, 
And  arts  of  every  woman  false  like  thee  — 
To  break  all  faith,  all  vows,  deceive,  betray;  750 

Then,  as  repentant,  to  submit,  beseech, 
And  reconcilement  move  with  feigned  remorse, 
Confess,  and  promise  wonders  in  her  change  — 
Not  truly  penitent,  but  chief  to  try 
Her  husband,  how  far  urged  his  patience  bears,  755 


214  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

His  virtue  or  weakness  which  way  to  assail : 

Then,  with  more  cautious  and  instructed  skill, 

Again  transgresses,  and  again  submits  ; 

That  wisest  and  best  men,  full  oft  beguiled, 

With  goodness  principled  not  to  reject  760 

The  penitent,  but  ever  to  forgive, 

Are  drawn  to  wear  out  miserable  days, 

Entangled  with  a  poisonous  bosom-snake, 

If  not  by  quick  destruction  soon  cut  off, 

As  I  by  thee,  to  ages  an  example.  765 

Dalila.   Yet  hear  me,  Samson  ;  not  that  I  endeavour 
To  lessen  or  extenuate  my  offence, 
But  that,  on  the  other  side,  if  it  be  weighed 
By  itself,  with  aggravations  not  surcharged, 
Or  else  with  just  allowance  counterpoised,  770 

I  may,  if  possible,  thy  pardon  find 
The  easier  towards  me,  or  thy  hatred  less. 
First  granting,  as  I  do,  it  was  a  weakness 
In  me,  but  incident  to  all  our  sex, 

Curiosity,  inquisitive,  importune  775 

Of  secrets,  then  with  like  infirmity 
To  publish  them  —  both  common  female  faults  — 
Was  it  not  weakness  also  to  make  known, 
For  importunity,  that  is  for  nought, 

Wherein  consisted  all  thy  strength  and  safety?  780 

To  what  I  did  thou  showd'st  me  first  the  way. 
But  I  to  enemies  revealed,  and  should  not ; 
Nor  should' st  thou  have  trusted  that  to  woman's  frailty : 
Ere  I  to  thee,  thou  to  thyself  wast  cruel. 
Let  weakness,  then,  with  weakness  come  to  parle,  785 

So  near  related,  or  the  same  of  kind ; 
Thine  forgive  mine,  that  men  may  censure  thine 
The  gentler,  if  severely  thou  exact  not 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  215 

More  strength  from  me  than  in  thyself  was  found. 

And  what  if  love,  which  thou  interpret'st  hate,  790 

The  jealousy  of  love,  powerful  of  sway 

In  human  hearts,  nor  less  in  mine  towards  thee, 

Caused  what  I  did  ?    I  saw  thee  mutable 

Of  fancy,  feared  lest  one  day  thou  would'st  leave  me 

As  her  at  Timna ;  sought  by  all  means,  therefore,  795 

How  to  endear,  and  hold  thee  to  me  firmest : 

No  better  way  I  saw  than  by  importuning 

To  learn  thy  secrets,  get  into  my  power 

Thy  key  of  strength  and  safety.     Thou  wilt  say, 

'  Why,  then,  revealed  ? '     I  was  assured  by  those  800 

Who  tempted  me,  that  nothing  was  designed 

Against  thee  but  safe  custody  and  hold. 

That  made  for  me  ;  I  knew  that  liberty 

Would  draw  thee  forth  to  perilous  enterprises, 

While  I  at  home  sat  full  of  cares  and  fears,  805 

Wailing  thy  absence  in  my  widowed  bed  ; 

Here  I  should  still  enjoy  thee,  day  and  night, 

Mine  and  love's  prisoner,  not  the  Philistines', 

Whole  to  myself,  unhazarded  abroad, 

Fearless  at  home  of  partners  in  my  love.  810 

These  reasons  in  love's  law  have  passed  for  good, 

Though  fond  and  reasonless  to  some  perhaps ; 

And  love  hath  oft,  well  meaning,  wrought  much  woe, 

Yet  always  pity  or  pardon  hath  obtained. 

Be  not  unlike  all  others,  not  austere  815 

As  thou  art  strong,  inflexible  as  steel. 

If  thou  in  strength  all  mortals  dost  exceed, 

In  uncompassionate  anger  do  not  so. 

Samson.    How  cunningly  the  sorceress  displays 
Her  own  transgressions,  to  upbraid  me  mine  !  820 

That  malice,  not  repentance,  brought  thee  hither, 


2 1 6  SAMSON  A  G  ON  IS  TES 

By  this  appears.     I  gave,  thou  say'st,  the  example, 

I  led  the  way ;  bitter  reproach,  but  true ; 

I  to  myself  was  false  ere  thou  to  me. 

Such  pardon,  therefore,  as  I  give  my  folly,  825 

Take  to  thy  wicked  deed ;  which  when  thou  seest 

Impartial,  self-severe,  inexorable, 

Thou  wilt  renounce  thy  seeking,  and  much  rather 

Confess  it  feigned.     Weakness  is  thy  excuse, 

And  I  believe  it  —  weakness  to  resist  830 

Philistian  gold.     If  weakness  may  excuse, 

What  murtherer,  what  traitor,  parricide, 

Incestuous,  sacrilegious,  but  may  plead  it? 

AH  wickedness  is  weakness  ;  that  plea,  therefore, 

With  God  or  man  will  gain  thee  no  remission.  835 

But  love  constrained  thee  !  call  it  furious  rage 

To  satisfy  thy  lust.     Love  seeks  to  have  love ; 

My  love  how  could'st  thou  hope,  who  took'st  the  way 

To  raise  in  me  inexpiable  hate, 

Knowing,  as  needs  I  must,  by  thee  betrayed  ?  840 

In  vain  thou  striv'st  to  cover  shame  with  shame, 

Or  by  evasions  thy  crime  uncover'st  more. 

Dalila.   Since  thou  determin'st  weakness  for  no  plea 
In  man  or  woman,  though  to  thy  own  condemning, 
Hear  what  assaults  I  had,  what  snares  besides,  845 

What  sieges  girt  me  round,  ere  I  consented  ; 
Which  might  have  awed  the  best-resolved  of  men, 
The  constantest,  to  have  yielded  without  blame. 
It  was  not  gold,  as  to  my  charge  thou  lay'st, 
That  wrought  with  me.     Thou  know'st  the  magistrates     850 
And  princes  of  my  country  came  in  person, 
Solicited,  commanded,  threatened,  urged, 
Adjured  by  all  the  bonds  of  civil  duty 
And  of  religion ;  pressed  how  just  it  was, 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  21 7 

How  honourable,  how  glorious,  to  entrap  855 

A  common  enemy,  who  had  destroyed 
Such  numbers  of  our  nation  :  and  the  priest 
Was  not  behind,  but  ever  at  my  ear, 
Preaching  how  meritorious  with  the  gods 

It  would  be  to  ensnare  an  irreligious  860 

Dishonourer  of  Dagon.     What  had  I 
To  oppose  against  such  powerful  arguments? 
Only  my  love  of  thee  held  long  debate, 
And  combated  in  silence  all  these  reasons 
With  hard  contest.     AUength^_Lhat  grounded  maxim,  865 

So  rife  and  celebrated  in  the  mouths 
Of  wisest  men,  that  to  the  public  good 
Private  respects  must  yield,  with  grave  authority 
Took  full  possession  of  me,  and  prevailed ; 
Virtue,  as  I  thought,  truth,  duty,  so  enjoining.  870 

Samson.   I  thought  where  all  thy  circling  wiles  would  end  — 
In  feigned  religion,  smooth  hypocrisy  ! 
But,  had  thy  love,  still  odiously  pretended, 
Been,  as  it  ought,  sincere,  it  would  have  taught  thee 
Far  other  reasonings,  brought  forth  other  deeds.  875 

I,  before  all  the  daughters  of  my  tribe 
And  of  my  nation,  chose  thee  from  among 
My  enemies,  loved  thee,  as  too  well  thou  knew'st, 
Too  well  j  unbosomed  all  my  secrets  to  thee, 
Not  out  of  levity,  but  overpowered  880 

By  thy  request,  who  could  deny  thee  nothing  ; 
Yet  now  am  judged  an  enemy.     Why,  then, 
Didst  thou  at  first  receive  me  for  thy  husband, 
Then,  as  since  then,  thy  country's  foe  professed  ? 
Being  once  a  wife,  for  me  thou  wast  to  leave  885 

Parents  and  country ;  nor  was  I  their  subject, 
Nor  under  their  protection,  but  my  own ; 


2i8  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

Thou  mine,  not  theirs.     If  aught  against  my  life 

Thy  country  sought  of  thee,  it  sought  unjustly, 

Against  the  law  of  nature,  law  of  nations  ;  890 

No  more  thy  country,  but  an  impious  crew 

Of  men  conspiring  to  uphold  their  state 

By  worse  than  hostile  deeds,  violating  the  ends 

For  which  our  country  is  a  name  so  dear ; 

Not  therefore  to  be  obeyed.     But  zeal  moved  thee ;  895 

To  please  thy  gods  thou  didst  it !  gods  unable 

To  acquit  themselves  and  prosecute  their  foes 

But  by  ungodly  deeds,  the  contradiction 

Of  their  own  deity,  gods  cannot  be  ; 

Less  therefore  to  be  pleased,  obeyed,  or  feared.  900 

These  false  pretexts  and  varnished  colours  failing, 

Bare  in  thy  guilt,  how  foul  must  thou  appear  ! 

Dalila.   In  argument  with  men  a  woman  ever 
Goes  by  the  worse,  whatever  be  her  cause. 

Samson.   For  want  of  words,  no  doubt,  or  lack  of  breath  ! 
Witness  when  I  was  worried  with  thy  peals.  906 

Dalila.    I  was  a  fool,  too  rash,  and  quite  mistaken 
In  what  I  thought  would  have  succeeded  best. 
Let  me  obtain  forgiveness  of  thee,  Samson ; 
Afford  me  place  to  show  what  recompense  910 

Towards  thee  I  intend  for  what  I  have  misdone, 
Misguided.     Only  what  remains  past  cure 
Bear  not  too  sensibly,  nor  still  insist 
To  afflict  thyself  in  vain.     Though  sight  be  lost, 
Life  yet  hath  many  solaces,  enjoyed  915 

Where  other  senses  want  not  their  delights  — 
At  home,  in  leisure  and  domestic  ease, 
Exempt  from  many  a  care  and  chance  to  which 
Eye-sight  exposes,  daily,  men  abroad. 
I  to  the  lords  will  intercede,  not  doubting  920 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  219 

Their  favourable  ear,  that  I  may  fetch  thee 

From  forth  this  loathsome  prison-house,  to  abide 

With  me,  where  my  redoubled  love  and  care, 

With  nursing  diligence,  to  me  glad  office, 

May  ever  tend  about  thee  to  old  age,  925 

With  all  things  grateful  cheered,  and  so  supplied 

That  what  by  me  thou  hast  lost  thou  least  shalt  miss. 

Samson.   No,  no ;  of  my  condition  take  no  care  ; 
It  fits  not ;  thou  and  I  long  since  are  twain ; 
Nor  think  me  so  unwary  or  accursed,  930 

To  bring  my  feet  again  into  the  snare 
Where  once  I  have  been  caught.     I  know  thy  trains, 
Though  dearly  to  my  cost,  thy  gins,  and  toils. 
Thy  fair  enchanted  cup,  and  warbling  charms, 
No  more  on  me  have  power ;  their  force  is  nulled;  935 

So  much  of  adder's  wisdom  I  have  learned, 
To  fence  my  ear  against  thy  sorceries. 
If  in  my  flower  of  youth  and  strength,  when  all  men 
Loved,  honoured,  feared  me,  thou  alone  could'st  hate  me, 
Thy  husband,  slight  me,  sell  me,  and  forgo  me,  940 

How  would'st  thou  use  me  now,  blind,  and  thereby 
Deceivable,  in  most  things  as  a  child 
Helpless,  thence  easily  contemned  and  scorned, 
And  last  neglected  !     How  would'st  thou  insult, 
When  I  must  live  uxorious  to  thy  will  945 

In  perfect  thraldom  !  how  again  betray  me, 
Bearing  my  words  and  doings  to  the  lords 
To  gloss  upon,  and,  censuring,  frown  or  smile  ! 
This  jail  I  count  the  house  of  liberty 
To  thine,  whose  doors  my  feet  shall  never  enter.  950 

Dalila.    Let  me  approach  at  least,  and  touch  thy  hand. 

Samson.   Not  for  thy  life,  lest  fierce  remembrance  wake 
My  sudden  rage  to  tear  thee  joint  by  joint. 


220  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

At  distance  I  forgive  thee ;  go  with  that ; 

Bewail  thy  falsehood,  and  the  pious  works  955 

It  hath  brought  forth  to  make  thee  memorable 

Among  illustrious  women,  faithful  wives ; 

Cherish  thy  hastened  widowhood  with  the  gold 

Of  matrimonial  treason  :  so  farewell. 

Dalila.   I  see  thou  art  implacable,  more  deaf  960 

To  prayers  than  winds  and  seas ;  yet  winds  to  seas 
Are  reconciled  at  length,  and  sea  to  shore  : 
Thy  anger,  unappeasable,  still  rages, 
Eternal  tempest  never  to  be  calmed. 
Why  do  I  humble  thus  myself,  and,  suing  965 

For  peace,  reap  nothing  but  repulse  and  hate  ? 
Bid  go  with  evil  omen,  and  the  brand 
Of  infamy  upon  my  name  denounced. 
To  mix  with  thy  concernments  I  desist 
Henceforth,  nor  too  much  disapprove  my  own.  970 

Fame,  if  not  double-faced,  is  double-mouthed, 
And  with  contrary  blast  proclaims  most  deeds; 
On  both  his  wings,  one  black,  the  other  white, 
Bears  greatest  names  in  his  wild  aery  flight. 
My  name,  perhaps,  among  the  Circumcised  975 

In  Dan,  in  Judah,  and  the  bordering  tribes, 
To  all  posterity  may  stand  defamed, 
With  malediction  mentioned,  and  the  blot 
Of  falsehood  most  unconjugal  traduced. 
But  in  my  country,  where  I  most  desire,  980 

In  Ecron,  Gaza,  Asdod,  and  in  Gath, 
I  shall  be  named  among  the  famousest 
Of  women,  sung  at  solemn  festivals, 
Living  and  dead  recorded,  who,  to  save 
Her  country  from  a  fierce  destroyer,  chose  985 

Above  the  faith  of  wedlock-bands ;  my  tomb 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  221 

With  odours  visited  and  annual  flowers ; 

Not  less  renowned  than  in  mount  Ephraim 

Jael,  who,  with  inhospitable  guile, 

Smote  Sisera  sleeping,  through  the  temples  nailed.  990 

Nor  shall  I  count  it  heinous  to  enjoy 

The  public  marks  of  honour  and  reward 

Conferred  upon  me  for  the  piety 

Which  to  my  country  I  was  judged  to  have  shown. 

At  this  whoever  envies  or  repines,  995 

I  leave  him  to  his  lot,  and  like  my  own. 

Chorus.   She's  gone  —  a  manifest  serpent  by  her  sting 
Discovered  in  the  end,  till  now  concealed. 

Samson.   So  let  her  go.     God  sent  her  to  debase  me, 
And  aggravate  my  folly,  who  committed  1000 

To  such  a  viper  his  most  sacred  trust 
Of  secrecy,  my  safety,  and  my  life. 

Chorus.   Yet  beauty,  though  injurious,  hath  strange  power, 
After  offence  returning,  to  regain 

Love  once  possessed,  nor  can  be  easily  1005 

Repulsed,  without  much  inward  passion  felt, 
And  secret  sting  of  amorous  remorse. 

Samson.   Love-quarrels  oft  in  pleasing  concord  end, 
Not  wedlock-treachery  endangering  life. 

Chorus.    It  is  not  virtue,  wisdom,  valour,  wit,  1010 

Strength,  comeliness  of  shape,  or  amplest  merit, 
That  woman's  love  can  win  or  long  inherit ; 
But  what  it  is,  hard  is  to  say, 
Harder  to  hit, 

Which  way  soever  men  refer  it  10 15 

(Much  like  thy  riddle,  Samson),  in  one  day 
Or  seven,  though  one  should  musing  sit. 

If  any  of  these,  or  all,  the  Timnian  bride 
Had  not  so  soon  preferred 


222  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

Thy  paranymph,  worthless  to  thee  compared,  1020 

Successor  in  thy  bed, 

Nor  both  so  loosely  disallied 

Their  nuptials,  nor  this  last  so  treacherously 

Had  shorn  the  fatal  harvest  of  thy  head. 

Is  it  for  that  such  outward  ornament  1025 

Was  lavished  on  their  sex,  that  inward  gifts 

Were  left  for  haste  unfinished,  judgment  scant, 

Capacity  not  raised  to  apprehend 

Or  value  what  is  best 

In  choice,  but  oftest  to  affect  the  wrong?  1030 

Or  was  too  much  of  self-love  mixed, 

Of  constancy  no  root  infixed, 

That  either  they  love  nothing,  or  not  long? 

Whate'er  it  be,  to  wisest  men  and  best, 
Seeming  at  first  all  heavenly  under  virgin  veil,  1035 

Soft,  modest,  meek,  demure, 
Once  joined,  the  contrary  she  proves  —  a  thorn 
Intestine,  far  within  defensive  arms 
A  cleaving  mischief,  in  his  way  to  virtue 
Adverse  and  turbulent ;  or  by  her  charms  1040 

Draws  him  awry,  enslaved 
With  dotage,  and  his  sense  depraved 
To  folly  and  shameful  deeds  which  ruin  ends. 
What  pilot  so  expert  but  needs  must  wreck, 
Embarked  with  such  a  steers-mate  at  the  helm  ?      1045 

Favoured  of  heaven  who  finds 
One  virtuous,  rarely  found, 
That  in  domestic  good  combines  ! 
Happy  that  house  !  his  way  to  peace  is  smooth  : 
But  virtue  which  breaks  through  all  opposition,        1050 
And  all  temptation  can  remove, 
Most  shines  and  most  is  acceptable  above. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  223 

Therefore  God's  universal  law 
Gave  to  the  man  despotic  power 

Over  his  female  in  due  awe,  1055 

Nor  from  that  right  to  part  an  hour, 
Smile  she  or  lour  : 
So  shall  he  least  confusion  draw 
On  his  whole  life,  not  swayed 
By  female  usurpation,  nor  dismayed.  .  Q  ^£z*      1060 

But  had  we  best  retire  ?     I  see  a  storm^^k* 

Samson.   Fair  days  have  oft  contracted  wind  and  rain. 

Chorus.    But  this  another  kind  of  tempest  brings. 

Samson.    Be  less  abstruse  ;  my  riddling  days  are  past. 

Chorus.   Look  now  for  no  enchanting  voice,  nor  fear      1065 
The  bait  of  honied  words  ;  a  rougher  tongue 
Draws  hitherward  ;  I  know  him  by  his  stride, 
The  giant  Harapha  of  Gath,  his  look 
Haughty,  as  is  his  pile  high-built  and  proud. 
Comes  he  in  peace?  what  wind  hath  blown  him  hither       1070 
I  less  conjecture  than  when  first  I  saw 
The  sumptuous  Dalila  floating  this  way : 
His  habit  carries  peace,  his  brow  defiance. 

Samson.   Or  peace  or  not,  alike  to  me  he  comes.  1074 

Chorus.    His  fraught  we  soon  shall  know  :  he  now  arrives. 

Harapha.    I  come  not,  Samson,  to  condole  thy  chance, 
As  these  perhaps,  yet  wish  it  had  not  been, 
Though  for  no  friendly  intent.     I  am  of  Gath ; 

Men  call  me  Harapha,  of  stock  renowned         -     . 

As  Og,  or  Anak,  and  the  Emims  old  1080 

That  Kiriathaim  held.     Thou  know'st  me  now, 

If  thou  at  all  art  known.     Much  I  have  heard 

Of  thy  prodigious  might  and  feats  performed, 

Incredible  to  me,  —  in  this  displeased, 

That  I  was  never  present  on  the  place  1085 


224  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

Of  those  encounters,  where  we  might  have  tried 

Each  other's  force  in  camp  or  listed  field  ; 

And  now  am  come  to  see  of  whom  such  noise 

Hath  walked  about,  and  each  limb  to  survey, 

If  thy  appearance  answer  loud  report.  1090 

Samson.   The  way  to  know  were  not  to  see,  but  taste. 

Harapha.   Dost  thou  already  single  me  ?     I  thought 
Gyves  and  the  mill  had  tamed  thee.     Oh,  that  fortune 
Had  brought  me  to  the  field,  where  thou  art  famed 
To  have  wrought  such  wonders  with  an  ass's  jaw  !  1095 

I  should  have  forced  thee  soon  with  other  arms, 
Or  left  thy  carcass  where  the  ass  lay  thrown ; 
So  had  the  glory  of  prowess  been  recovered 
To  Palestine,  won  by  a  Philistine 

From  the  unforeskinned  race,  of  whom  thou  bear'st  1100 

The  highest  name  for  valiant  acts ;  that  honour, 
Certain  to  have  won  by  mortal  duel  from  thee, 
I  lose,  prevented  by  thy  eyes  put  out. 

Samson.   Boast  not  of  what  thou  would'st  have  done,  but  do 
What  then  thou  would'st ;  thou  seest  it  in  thy  hand.  11 05 

Harapha.   To  combat  with  a  blind  man  I  disdain, 
And  thou  hast  need  much  washing  to  be  touched. 

Samson.   Such  usage  as  your  honourable  lords 
Afford  me,  assassinated  and  betrayed  ; 

Who  durst  not  with  their  whole  united  powers  mo 

In  fight  withstand  me  single  and  unarmed, 
Nor  in  the  house  with  chamber-ambushes 
Close-banded  durst  attack  me,  no,  not  sleeping, 
Till  they  had  hired  a  woman  with  their  gold, 
Breaking  her  marriage- faith,  to  circumvent  me.  11 15 

Therefore,  without  feigned  shifts,  let  be  assigned 
Some  narrow  place  enclosed,  where  sight  may  give  thee, 
Or  rather  flight,  no  great  advantage  on  me ; 


SAMSON  AGONISTES 


225 


Then  put  on  all  thy  gorgeous  arms,  thy  helmet 

And  brigandine  of  brass,  thy  broad  habergeon,  11 20 

Vant-brace  and  greaves  and  gauntlet ;  add  thy  spear, 

A  weaver's  beam,  and  seven-times-folded  shield : 

I  only  with  an  oaken  staff  will  meet  thee, 

And  raise  such  outcries  on  thy  clattered  iron, 

Which  long  shall  not  withhold  me  from  thy  head,  11 25 

That  in  a  little  time  while  breath  remains  thee, 

Thou  oft  shalt  wish  thyself  at  Gath,  to  boast 

Again  in  safety  what  thou  would'st  have  done 

To  Samson,  but  shalt  never  see  Gath  more. 

Harapha.   Thou  durst  not  thus  disparage  glorious  arms, 
Which  greatest  heroes  have  in  battle  worn,  1131 

Their  ornament  and  safety,  had  not  spells 
And  black  enchantments,  some  magician's  art, 
Armed  thee  or  charmed  thee  strong,  which  thou  from  Heaven 
Feign'dst  at  thy  birth  was  given  thee  in  thy  hair,  1135 

Where  strength  can  least  abide,  though  all  thy  hairs 
Were  bristles  ranged  like  those  that  ridge  the  back 
Of  chafed  wild  boars  or  ruffled  porcupines. 

Samson.   I  know  no  spells,  use  no  forbidden  arts ; 
My  trust  is  in  the  Living  God,  who  gave  me,  n  40 

At  my  nativity,  this  strength,  diffused 
No  less  through  all  my  sinews,  joints,  and  bones, 
Than  thine,  while  I  preserved  these  locks  unshorn, 
The  pledge  of  my  unviolated  vow. 

For  proof  hereof,  if  Dagon  be  thy  god,  1145 

Go  to  his  temple,  invocate  his  aid 
With  solemnest  devotion,  spread  before  him 
How  highly  it  concerns  his  glory  now 
To  frustrate  and  dissolve  these  magic  spells, 
Which  I  to  be  the  power  of  Israel's  God  1150 

Avow,  and  challenge  Dagon  to  the  test, 
Q 


226  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

Offering  to  combat  thee,  his  champion  bold, 

With  the  utmost  of  his  godhead  seconded  : 

Then  thou  shalt  see,  or  rather  to  thy  sorrow 

Soon  feel,  whose  God  is  strongest,  thine  or  mine.  1155 

Harapha.   Presume  not  on  thy  God.     Whate'er  he  be, 
Thee  he  regards  not,  owns  not,  hath  cut  off 
Quite  from  his  people,  and  delivered  up 
Into  thy  enemies'  hand ;  permitted  them 
To  put  out  both  thine  eyes,  and  fettered  send  thee  n  60 

Into  the  common  prison,  there  to  grind 
Among  the  slaves  and  asses,  thy  comrades, 
As  good  for  nothing  else,  no  better  service 
With  those  thy  boisterous  locks ;  no  worthy  match 
For  valour  to  assail,  nor  by  the  sword  1 1 65 

Of  noble  warrior,  so  to  stain  his  honour, 
But  by  the  barber's  razor  best  subdued. 

Samson.    All  these  indignities,  for  such  they  are 
From  thine,  these  evils  I  deserve  and  more, 
Acknowledge  them  from  God  inflicted  on  me  1 1 70 

Justly,  yet  despair  not  of  his  final  pardon, 
Whose  ear  is  ever  open,  and  his  eye 
Gracious  to  re-admit  the  suppliant ; 
In  confidence  whereof  I  once  again 

Defy  thee  to  the  trial  of  mortal  fight,  11 75 

By  combat  to  decide  whose  god  is  God, 
Thine,  or  whom  I  with  Israel's  sons  adore. 

Harapha.   Fair  honour  that  thou  doest  thy  God,  in  trusting 
He  will  accept  thee  to  defend  his  cause, 
A  murtherer,  a  revolter,  and  a  robber  !  1 1 80 

Samson.  Tongue-doughty  giant,  how  dost  thou  prove  me 
these  ? 

Harapha.   Is  not  thy  nation  subject  to  our  lords? 
Their  magistrates  confessed  it,  when  they  took  thee 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  227 

As  a  league-breaker,  and  delivered  bound 

Into  our  hands  :  for  hadst  thou  not  committed  1 1 85 

Notorious  murder  on  those  thirty  men 

At  Ascalon,  who  never  did  thee  harm, 

Then,  like  a  robber,  stripp'dst  them  of  their  robes  ? 

The  Philistines,  when  thou  hadst  broke  the  league, 

Went  up  with  armed  powers  thee  only  seeking,  1190 

To  others  did  no  violence  nor  spoil. 

Samson.   Among  the  daughters  of  the  Philistines 
I  chose  a  wife,  which  argued  me  no  foe, 
And  in  your  city  held  my  nuptial  feast ; 
But  your  ill-meaning  politician  lords,  1195 

Under  pretence  of  bridal  friends  and  guests, 
Appointed  to  await  me  thirty  spies, 
Who,  threatening  cruel  death,  constrained  the  bride 
To  wring  from  me,  and  tell  to  them,  my  secret, 
That  solved  the  riddle  which  I  had  proposed.  1200 

When  I  perceived  all  set  on  enmity, 
As  on  my  enemies,  wherever  chanced, 
I  used  hostility,  and  took  their  spoil, 
To  pay  my  underminers  in  their  coin. 
My  nation  was  subjected  to  your  lords  !  1205 

It  was  the  force  of  conquest ;  force  with  force 
Is  well  ejected  when  the  conquered  can. 
But  I,  a  private  person,  whom  my  country 
As  a  league-breaker  gave  up  bound,  presumed 
Single  rebellion,  and  did  hostile  acts  !  12 10 

I  was  no  private,  but  a  person  raised, 
With  strength  sufficient,  and  command  from  Heaven, 
To  free  my  country.     If  their  servile  minds 
Me,  their  deliverer  sent,  would  not  receive, 
But  to  their  masters  gave  me  up  for  nought,  12 15 

The  unworthier  they  ;  whence  to  this  day  they  serve. 


228  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

I  was  to  do  my  part  from  Heaven  assigned, 

And  had  performed  it,  if  my  known  offence 

Had  not  disabled  me,  not  all  your  force. 

These  shifts  refuted,  answer  thy  appellant,  1220 

Though  by  his  blindness  maimed  for  high  attempts, 

Who  now  defies  thee  thrice  to  single  fight, 

As  a  petty  enterprise  of  small  enforce. 

Harapha.   With  thee,  a  man  condemned,  a  slave  enrolled, 
Due  by  the  law  to  capital  punishment?  1225 

To  fight  with  thee  no  man  of  arms  will  deign. 

Samson.   Cam'st  thou  for  this,  vain  boaster,  to  survey  me, 
To  descant  on  my  strength,  and  give  thy  verdict? 
Come  nearer ;  part  not  hence  so  slight  informed ; 
But  take  good  heed  my  hand  survey  not  thee.  1230 

Harapha.   O  Baal-zebub  !  can  my  ears  unused 
Hear  these  dishonours,  and  not  render  death? 

Samson.   No  man  withholds  thee  ;  nothing  from  thy  hand 
Fear  I  incurable ;  bring  up  thy  van ; 
My  heels  are  fettered,  but  my  fist  is  free.  1235 

Harapha.   This  insolence  other  kind  of  answer  fits. 

Samson.   Go,  baffled  coward,  lest  I  run  upon  thee, 
Though  in  these  chains,  bulk  without  spirit  vast, 
And  with  one  buffet  lay  thy  structure  low, 
Or  swing  thee  in  the  air,  then  dash  thee  down,  1 240 

To  the  hazard  of  thy  brains  and  shattered  sides. 

Harapha.   By  Astaroth,  ere  long  thou  shalt  lament 
These  braveries  in  irons  loaden  on  thee. 

Chorus.  His  giantship  is  gone  somewhat  crest-fallen, 
Stalking  with  less  unconscionable  strides,  lAJfrt^j  1245 

And  lower  looks,  but  in  a  sultry  chafe. 

Samson.   I  dread  him  not,  nor  all  his  giant  brood, 
Though  fame  divulge  him  father  of  five  sons, 
All  of  gigantic  size,  Goliah  chief. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  229 

Chorus.   He  will  directly  to  the  lords,  I  fear,  1250 

And  with  malicious  counsel  stir  them  up 
Some  way  or  other  yet  further  to  afflict  thee. 

Samson.   He  must  allege  some  cause,  and  offered  fight 
Will  not  dare  mention,  lest  a  question  rise 
Whether  he  durst  accept  the  offer  or  not ;  1255 

And  that  he  durst  not  plain  enough  appeared. 
Much  more  affliction  than  already  felt 
They  cannot  well  impose,  nor  I  sustain, 
If  they  intend  advantage  of  my  labours, 
The  work  of  many  hands,  which  earns  my  keeping,     1260 
With  no  small  profit  daily  to  my  owners. 
But  come  what  will,  my  deadliest  foe  will  prove 
My  speediest  friend,  by  death  to  rid  me  hence ; 
The  worst  that  he  can  give,  to  me  the  best. 
Yet  so  it  may  fall  out,  because  their  end  1265 

Is  hate,  not  help  to  me,  it  may  with  mine 
Draw  their  own  ruin  who  attempt  the  deed. 

Chorus.    Oh  how  comely  it  is,  and  how  reviving 
To  the  spirits  of  just  men  long  oppressed, 
When  God  into  the  hands  of  their  deliverer  1270 

Puts  invincible  might, 

To  quell  the  mighty  of  the  earth,  the  oppressor, 
The  brute  and  boisterous  force  of  violent  men, 
Hardy  and  industrious  to  support. 

Tyrannic  power,  but  raging  to  pursue  1275 

The  righteous,  and  all  such  as  honour  truth  ! 
He  all  their  ammunition 
And  feats  of  war  defeats, 
With  plain  heroic  magnitude  of  mind 
And  celestial  vigour  armed ;  1280 

Their  armories  and  magazines  contemns, 
Renders  them  useless,  while 


230 


SAMSON  AGONISTES 


With  winged  expedition 

Swift  as  the  lightning  glance  he  executes 

His  errand  on  the  wicked,  who,  surprised,  t  1285 

Lose  their  defence,  distracted  and  amazed. 

But  patience  is  more  oft  the  exercise 
Of  saints,  the  trial  of  their  fortitude, 
Making  them  each  his  own  deliverer, 

And  victor  over  all  1290 

That  tyranny  or  fortune  can  inflict. 
Either  of  these  is  in  thy  lot, 
Samson,  with  might  endued 
Above  the  sons  of  men ;  but  sight  bereaved 
May  chance  to  number  thee  with  those  I295 

Whom  patience  finally  must  crown. 

This  Idol's  day  hath  been  to  thee  no  day  of  rest, 
Labouring  thy  mind 
More  than  the  working  day  thy  hands. 

And  yet  perhaps  more  trouble  is  behind ;  1300 

For  I  descry  this  way 
Some  other  tending  j  in  his  hand 
A  sceptre  or  quaint  staff  he  bears, 
Comes  on  amain,  speed  in  his  look. 

By  his  habit  I  discern  him  now  1305 

A  public  officer,  and  now  at  hand. 
His  message  will  be  short  and  voluble. 

Officer.   Ebrews,  the  prisoner  Samson  here  I  seek. 

Chorus.   His  manacles  remark  him  ;  there  he  sits. 

Officer.   Samson,  to  thee  our  lords  thus  bid  me  say  :        13 10 
This  day  to  Dagon  is  a  solemn  feast, 
With  sacrifices,  triumph,  pomp,  and  games  J 
Thy  strength  they  know  surpassing  human  rate, 
And  now  some  public  proof  thereof  require 
To  honour  this  great  feast,  and  great  assembly.  13 15 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  23 1 

Rise,  therefore,  with  all  speed,  and  come  along, 
Where  I  will  see  thee  heartened  and  fresh  clad, 
To  appear  as  fits  before  the  illustrious  lords. 

Samson.  Thou  know'st  I  am  an  Ebrew ;  therefore  tell  them 
Our  Law  forbids  at  their  religious  rites  1320 

My  presence  ;  for  that  cause  I  cannot  come. 

Officer.   This  answer,  be  assured,  will  not  content  them. 

Samson.    Have  they  not  sword-players,  and  every  sort 
Of  gymnic  artists,  wrestlers,  riders,  runners, 
Jugglers  and  dancers,  antics,  mummers,  mimics,  1325 

But  they  must  pick  me  out,  with  shackles  tired, 
And  over-laboured  at  their  public  mill, 
To  make  them  sport  with  blind  activity? 
Do  they  not  seek  occasion  of  new  quarrels, 
On  my  refusal,  to  distress  me  more,  1330 

Or  make  a  game  of  my  calamities? 
Return  the  way  thou  cam'st ;  I  will  not  come. 

Officer.    Regard  thyself;  this  will  offend  them  highly. 

Samson.   Myself?  my  conscience  and  internal  peace. 
Can  they  think  me  so  broken,  so  debased  1335 

With  corporal  servitude,  that  my  mind  ever 
Will  condescend  to  such  absurd  commands  ? 
Although  their  drudge,  to  be  their  fool  or  jester, 
And,  in  my  midst  of  sorrow  and  heart-grief, 
To  show  them  feats,  and  play  before  their  god —  1340 

The  worst  of  all  indignities,  yet  on  me 
Joined  with  extreme  contempt !     I  will  not  come. 

Officer.   My  message  was  imposed  on  me  with  speed, 
Brooks  no  delay  :  is  this  thy  resolution  ? 

Samson.   So  take  it  with  what  speed  thy  message  needs. 
Officer.    I  am  sorry  what  this  stoutness  will  produce.       1346 

Samson.    Perhaps  thou  shalt  have  cause  to  sorrow  indeed. 
Chorus.   Consider,  Samson ;  matters  now  are  strained 


232  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

Up  to  the  highth,  whether  to  hold  or  break. 

He's  gone,  and  who  knows  how  he  may  report  I35° 

Thy  words  by  adding  fuel  to  the  flame  ? 

Expect  another  message  more  imperious, 

More  lordly  thundering  than  thou  well  wilt  bear. 

Samson.   Shall  I  abuse  this  consecrated  gift 
Of  strength,  again  returning  with  my  hair  1355 

After  my  great  transgression?  so  requite 
Favour  renewed,  and  add  a  greater  sin 
By  prostituting  holy  things  to  idols, 
A  Nazarite,  in  place  abominable, 

Vaunting  my  strength  in  honour  to  their  Dagon?  1360 

Besides  how  vile,  contemptible,  ridiculous, 
What  act  more  execrably  unclean,  profane  ? 

Chorus.   Yet  with  this  strength  thou  serv'st  the  Philistines, 
Idolatrous,  uncircumcised,  unclean. 

Samson.   Not  in  their  idol- worship,  but  by  labour  1365 

Honest  and  lawful  to  deserve  my  food 
Of  those  who  have  me  in  their  civil  power. 

Chorus.   Where  the  heart  joins  not,  outward  acts  defile  not. 

Samson.   Where  outward  force  constrains,  the  sentence  holds. 
But  who  constrains  me  to  the  temple  of  Dagon,  r37° 

Not  dragging?  the  Philistian  lords  command  : 
Commands  are  no  constraints.     If  I  obey  them, 
I  do  it  freely,  venturing  to  displease 
God  for  the  fear  of  man,  and  man  prefer, 

Set  God  behind;  which,  in  his  jealousy,  1375 

Shall  never,  unrepented,  find  forgiveness. 
Yet  that  he  may  dispense  with  me,  or  thee, 
Present  in  temples  at  idolatrous  rites 
For  some  important  cause,  thou  need'st  not  doubt. 

Chorus.    How  thou  wilt  here  come  off  surmounts  my  reach. 

Samson.    Be  of  good  courage  ;  I  begin  to  feel  1381 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  233 

Some  rousing  motions  in  me,  which  dispose 

To  something  extraordinary  my  thoughts. 

I  with  this  messenger  will  go  along, 

Nothing  to  do,  be  sure,  that  may  dishonour  1385 

Our  Law,  or  stain  my  vow  of  Nazarite. 

If  there  be  aught  of  presage  in  the  mind, 

This  day  will  be  remarkable  in  my  life 

By  some  great  act,  or  of  my  days  the  last. 

Chorus.   In  time  thou  hast  resolved  :  the  man  returns.  1390 

Officer.   Samson,  this  second  message  from  our  lords 
To  thee  I  am  bid  say  :  Art  thou  our  slave, 
Our  captive,  at  the  public  mill  our  drudge, 
And  dar'st  thou,  at  our  sending  and  command, 
Dispute  thy  coming?     Come  without  delay;  1395 

Or  we  shall  find  such  engines  to  assail 
And  hamper  thee,  as  thou  shalt  come  of  force, 
Though  thou  wert  firmlier  fastened  than  a  rock. 

Samson.    I  could  be  well  content  to  try  their  art, 
Which  to  no  few  of  them  would  prove  pernicious ;  1400 

Yet,  knowing  their  advantages  too  many, 
Because  they  shall  not  trail  me  through  their  streets 
Like  a  wild  beast  I  am  content  to  go. 
—  Masters'  commands  come  with  a  power  resistless 
To  such  as  owe  them  absolute  subjection;  1405 

And  for  a  life  who  will  not  change  his  purpose  ? 
So  mutable  are  all  the  ways  of  men.  — 
Yet  this  be  sure,  in  nothing  to  comply 
Scandalous  or  forbidden  in  our  Law. 

Officer.   I  praise  thy  resolution.     Doff  these  links:  1410 

By  this  compliance  thou  wilt  win  the  lords 
To  favour,  and  perhaps  to  set  thee  free. 

Samson.   Brethren,  farewell.     Your  company  along 
I  will  not  wish,  lest  it  perhaps  offend  them 


234  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

To  see  me  girt  with  friends;  and  how  the  sight  1415 

Of  me  as  of  a  common  enemy, 

So  dreaded  once,  may  now  exasperate  them, 

I  know  not.     Lords  are  lordliest  in  their  wine ; 

And  the  well-feasted  priest  then  soonest  fired 

With  zeal,  if  aught  religion  seem  concerned ;  1420 

No  less  the  people,  on  their  holy-days, 

Impetuous,  insolent,  unquenchable. 

Happen  what  may,  of  me  expect  to  hear 

Nothing  dishonourable,  impure,  unworthy 

Our  God,  our  Law,  my  nation,  or  myself;  1425 

The.  last  of  me  or  no  I  cannot  warrant. 

Chorus.   Go,  and  the  Holy  One 
Of  Israel  be  thy  guide 

To  what  may  serve  his  glory  best,  and  spread  his  name 
Great  among  the  Heathen  round  ;  14^0 

Send  thee  the  Angel  of  thy  birth,  to  stand 
Fast  by  thy  side,  who  from  thy  father's  field 
Rode  up  in  flames  after  his  message  told 
Of  thy  conception,  and  be  now  a  shield 

Of  fire  ;  that  Spirit,  that  first  rushed  on  thee  1435 

In  the  camp  of  Dan, 
Be  efficacious  in  thee  now  at  need  ! 
For  never  was  from  Heaven  imparted 
Measure  of  strength  so  great  to  mortal  seed, 
As  in  thy  wondrous  actions  hath  been  seen.  1440 

But  wherefore  comes  old  Manoa  in  such  haste 
With  youthful  steps?  much  livelier  than  ere  while 
He  seems  :  supposing  here  to  find  his  son, 
Or  of  him  bringing  to  us  some  glad  news  t 

Manoa.   Peace  with  you,  brethren  !      My  inducement  hither 
Was  not  at  present  here  to  find  my  son,  1446 

By  order  of  the  lords  new  parted  hence 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  235 

To  come  and  play  before  them  at  their  feast. 

I  heard  all  as  I  came ;  the  city  rings, 

And  numbers  thither  flock;  I  had  no  will,  1450 

Lest  I  should  see  him  forced  to  things  unseemly. 

But  that  which  moved  my  coming  now,  was  chiefly 

To  give  ye  part  with  me  what  hope  I  have 

With  good  success  to  work  his  liberty. 

Chorus.  That  hope  would  much  rejoice  us  to  partake    1455 
With  thee.     Say,  reverend  sire  ;  we  thirst  to  hear. 

Manoa.   I  have  attempted,  one  by  one,  the  lords, 
Either  at  home,  or  through  the  high  street  passing, 
With  supplication  prone  and  father's  tears, 
To  accept  of  ransom  for  my  son,  their  prisoner.  1460 

Some  much  averse  I  found,  and  wondrous  harsh, 
Contemptuous,  proud,  set  on  revenge  and  spite ; 
That  part  most  reverenced  Dagon  and  his  priests ; 
Others  more  moderate  seeming,  but  their  aim 
Private  reward,  for  which  both  God  and  State  1465 

They  easily  would  set  to  sale ;  a  third 
More  generous  far  and  civil,  who  confessed 
They  had  enough  revenged,  having  reduced 
Their  foe  to  misery  beneath  their  fears ; 

The  rest  was  magnanimity  to  remit,  1470 

If  some  convenient  ransom  were  proposed. 
What  noise  or  shout  was  that?  it  tore  the  sky. 

Chorus.   Doubtless  the  people  shouting  to  behold 
Their  once  great  dread,  captive  and  blind  before  them, 
Or  at  some  proof  of  strength  before  them  shown.  1475 

Manoa.   His  ransom,  if  my  whole  inheritance 
May  compass  it,  shall  willingly  be  paid 
And  numbered  down.     Much  rather  I  shall  choose 
To  live  the  poorest  in  my  tribe,  than  richest, 
And  he  in  that  calamitous  prison  left.  1480 


236  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

No,  I  am  fixed  not  to  part  hence  without  him. 

For  his  redemption  all  my  patrimony, 

If  need  be,  I  am  ready  to  forgo 

And  quit.     Not  wanting  him,  I  shall  want  nothing. 

Chorus.    Fathers  are  wont  to  lay  up  for  their  sons  ;         1485 
Thou  for  thy  son  art  bent  to  lay  out  all ; 
Sons  wont  to  nurse  their  parents  in  old  age, 
Thou  in  old  age  car'st  how  to  nurse  thy  son, 
Made  older  than  thy  age  through  eye-sight  lost. 

Manoa.   It  shall  be  my  delight  to  tend  his  eyes,  1490 

And  view  him  sitting  in  the  house,  ennobled 
With  all  those  high  exploits  by  him  achieved, 
And  on  his  shoulders  waving  down  those  locks 
That  of  a  nation  armed  the  strength  contained. 
And  I  persuade  me,  God  had  not  permitted  *495 

His  strength  again  to  grow  up  with  his  hair 
Garrisoned  round  about  him  like  a  camp 
Of  faithful  soldiery,  were  not  his  purpose 
To  use  him  further  yet  in  some  great  service  — 
Not  to  sit  idle  with  so  great  a  gift  1500 

Useless,  and  thence  ridiculous,  about  him. 
And  since  his  strength  with  eye-sight  was  not  lost, 
God  will  restore  him  eye- sight  to  his  strength. 

Chorus.   Thy  hopes  are  not  ill  founded,  nor  seem  vain, 
Of  his  delivery,  and  thy  joy  thereon  1505 

Conceived,  agreeable  to  a  father's  love, 
In  both  which  we,  as  next,  participate. 

Manoa.   I  know  your  friendly  minds  and  .  .  .  oh,  what  noise  ! 
Mercy  of  Heaven  !  what  hideous  noise  was  that  ? 
Horribly  loud,  unlike  the  former  shout.  15 10 

Chorus.   Noise  call  you  it,  or  universal  groan, 
As  if  the  whole  inhabitation  perished  ! 
Blood,  death,  and  deathful  deeds,  are  in  that  noise, 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  237 

Ruin,  destruction  at  the  utmost  point. 

Manoa.   Of  ruin  indeed  methought  I  heard  the  noise.    15 15 
Oh,  it  continues ;  they  have  slain  my  son  ! 

Chorus.   Thy  son  is  rather  slaying  them  ;  that  outcry 
From  slaughter  of  one  foe  could  not  ascend. 

Manoa.   Some  dismal  accident  it  needs  must  be. 
What  shall  we  do  —  stay  here  or  run  and  see?  1520 

Chorus.   Best  keep  together  here,  lest,  running  thither, 
We  unawares  run  into  danger's  mouth. 
This  evil  on  the  Philistines  is  fallen ; 
From  whom  could  else  a  general  cry  be  heard  ? 
The  sufferers  then  will  scarce  molest  us  here  ;  1525 

From  other  hands  we  need  not  much  to  fear. 
What  if,  his  eye-sight  (for  to  Israel's  God 
Nothing  is  hard)  by  miracle  restored, 
He  now  be  dealing  dole  among  his  foes, 
And  over  heaps  of  slaughtered  walk  his  way?  1530 

Manoa.   That  were  a  joy  presumptuous  to  be  thought. 

Chorus.   Yet  God  hath  wrought  things  as  incredible 
For  his  people  of  old;  what  hinders  now? 

Manoa.   He  can,  I  know,  but  doubt  to  think  he  will ; 
Yet  hope  would  fain  subscribe,  and  tempts  belief.  1535 

A  little  stay  will  bring  some  notice  hither. 

Chorus.   Of  good  or  bad  so  great,  of  bad  the  sooner ; 
For  evil  news  rides  post,  while  good  news  baits. 
And  to  our  wish  I  see  one  hither  speeding  — 
An  Ebrew,  as  I  guess,  and  of  our  tribe.  1540 

Messenger.   Oh,  whither  shall  I  run,  or  which  way  fly 
The  sight  of  this  so  horrid  spectacle, 
Which  erst  my  eyes  beheld,  and  yet  behold  ? 
For  dire  imagination  still  pursues  me. 

But  providence  or  instinct  of  nature  seems,  1545 

Or  reason,  though  disturbed,  and  scarce  consulted, 


238  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

To  have  guided  me  aright,  I  know  not  how, 

To  thee  first,  reverend  Manoa,  and  to  these 

My  countrymen,  whom  here  I  knew  remaining, 

As  at  some  distance  from  the  place  of  horror,  1550 

So  in  the  sad  event  too  much  concerned. 

Manoa.   The  accident  was  loud,  and  here  before  thee 
With  rueful  cry ;  yet  what  it  was  we  hear  not. 
No  preface  needs,  thou  seest  we  long  to  know. 

Messenger.   It  would  burst  forth  j  but  I  recover  breath,  1555 
And  sense  distract,  to  know  well  what  I  utter. 

Manoa.   Tell  us  the  sum,  the  circumstance  defer. 

Messenger.   Gaza  yet  stands,  but  all  her  sons  are  fallen, 
All  in  a  moment  overwhelmed  and  fallen. 

Manoa.   Sad  !  but  thou  know'st  to  Israelites  not  saddest 
The  desolation  of  a  hostile  city.  1561 

Messenger.   Feed  on  that  first,  there  may  in  grief  be  surfeit. 

Manoa.   Relate  by  whom. 

Messenger.  By  Samson. 

Manoa.  That  still  lessens 

The  sorrow,  and  converts  it  nigh  to  joy. 

Messenger.   Ah  !  Manoa,  I  refrain  too  suddenly  1565 

To  utter  what  will  come  at  last  too  soon, 
Lest  evil  tidings,  with  too  rude  irruption 
Hitting  thy  aged  ear,  should  pierce  too  deep. 

Manoa.   Suspense  in  news  is  torture  ;  speak  them  out.  1569 

Messenger.   Take  then  the  worst  in  brief :  Samson  is  dead. 

Manoa.   The  worst  indeed  !  oh,  all  my  hope's  defeated 
To  free  him  hence  !  but  Death  who  sets  all  free 
Hath  paid  his  ransom  now  and  full  discharge. 
What  windy  joy  this  day  had  I  conceived, 
Hopeful  of  his  delivery,  which  now  proves  1575 

Abortive  as  the  first-born  bloom  of  spring 
Nipt  with  the  lagging  rear  of  winter's  frost ! 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  239 

Yet,  ere  I  give  the  reins  to  grief,  say  first 

How  died  he  ;  death  to  life  is  crown  or  shame. 

All  by  him  fell,  thou  say'st ;  by  whom  fell  he?  1580 

What  glorious  hand  gave  Samson  his  death's  wound  ? 

Messenger.   Unwounded  of  his  enemies  he  fell. 

Manoa.   Wearied  with  slaughter,  then,  or  how?  explain. 

Messenger.   By  his  own  hands. 

Manoa.  Self-violence?  what  cause 

Brought  him  so  soon  at  variance  with  himself  1585 

Among  his  foes? 

Messenger.  Inevitable  cause  — 

At  once  both  to  destroy  and  be  destroyed. 
The  edifice,  where  all  were  met  to  see  him, 
Upon  their  heads  and  on  his  own  he  pulled. 

Manoa.   Oh,  lastly  over-strong  against  thyself !  1590 

A  dreadful  way  thou  took'st  to  thy  revenge. 
More  than  enough  we  know ;  but,  while  things  yet 
Are  in  confusion,  give  us,  if  thou  canst, 
Eye-witness  of  what  first  or  last  was  done, 
Relation  more  particular  and  distinct.  1595 

Messenger.   Occasions  drew  me  early  to  this  city, 
And,  as  the  gates  I  entered  with  sun-rise, 
The  morning  trumpets  festival  proclaimed 
Through  each  high  street.     Little  I  had  dispatched, 
When  all  abroad  was  rumoured  that  this  day  1600 

Samson  should  be  brought  forth,  to  show  the  people 
Proof  of  his  mighty  strength  in  feats  and  games. 
I  sorrowed  at  his  captive  state,  but  minded 
Not  to  be  absent  at  that  spectacle. 

The  building  was  a  spacious  theatre,  1605 

Half-round,  on  two  main  pillars  vaulted  high, 
With  seats  where  all  the  lords,  and  each  degree 
Of  sort,  might  sit  in  order  to  behold ; 


240  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

The  other  side  was  open,  where  the  throng 

On  banks  and  scaffolds  under  sky  might  stand ;  1610 

I  among  these  aloof  obscurely  stood. 

The  feast  and  noon  grew  high,  and  sacrifice 

Had  filled  their  hearts  with  mirth,  high  cheer,  and  wine, 

When  to  their  sports  they  turned.     Immediately 

Was  Samson  as  a  public  servant  brought,  16 15 

In  their  state  livery  clad ;  before  him  pipes 

And  timbrels ;  on  each  side  went  armed  guards, 

Both  horse  and  foot ;  before  him  and  behind 

Archers  and  slingers,  cataphracts  and  spears. 

At  sight  of  him  the  people  with  a  shout  1620 

Rifted  the  air,  clamouring  their  god  with  praise, 

Who  had  made  their  dreadful  enemy  their  thrall. 

He,  patient  but  undaunted  where  they  led  him, 

Came  to  the  place ;  and  what  was  set  before  him, 

Which  without  help  of  eye  might  be  assayed,  1625 

To  heave,  pull,  draw,  or  break,  he  still  performed 

All  with  incredible,  stupendious  force, 

None  daring  to  appear  antagonist. 

At  length,  for  intermission  sake,  they  led  him 

Between  the  pillars  ;  he  his  guide  requested  1630 

(For  so  from  such  as  nearer  stood  we  heard), 

As  over-tired,  to  let  him  lean  a  while 

With  both  his  arms  on  those  two  massy  pillars, 

That  to  the  arched  roof  gave  main  support. 

He  unsuspicious  led  him  ;  which  when  Samson  1635 

Felt  in  his  arms,  with  head  a  while  inclined, 

And  eyes  fast  fixed,  he  stood,  as  one  who  prayed, 

Or  some  great  matter  in  his  mind  revolved. 

At  last,  with  head  erect,  thus  cried  aloud  : 

1  Hitherto,  Lords,  what  your  commands  imposed         1640 

I  have  performed,  as  reason  was,  obeying, 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  24 1 

Not  without  wonder  or  delight  beheld  ; 

Now  of  my  own  accord  such  other  trial 

I  mean  to  show  you  of  my  strength,  yet  greater, 

As  with  amaze  shall  strike  all  who  behold.'  1645 

This  uttered,  straining  all  his  nerves,  he  bowed ; 

As  with  the  force  of  winds  and  waters  pent 

When  mountains  tremble,  those  two  massy  pillars 

With  horrible  convulsion  to  and  fro 

He  tugged,  he  shook,  till  down  they  came,  and  drew  1650 

The  whole  roof  after  them,  with  burst  of  thunder, 

Upon  the  heads  of  all  who  sat  beneath, 

Lords,  ladies,  captains,  counsellors,  or  priests, 

Their  choice  nobility  and  flower,  not  only 

Of  this,  but  each  Philistian  city  round,  1655 

Met  from  all  parts  to  solemnize  this  feast. 

Samson,  with  these  immixed,  inevitably 

Pulled  down  the  same  destruction  on  himself; 

The  vulgar  only  scaped,  who  stood  without. 

Chorus.   Oh,  dearly-bought  revenge,  yet  glorious  !  1660 

Living  or  dying  thou  hast  fulfilled 
The  work  for  which  thou  wast  foretold 
To  Israel,  and  now  liest  victorious 
Among  thy  slain  self- killed ; 

Not  willingly,  but  tangled  in  the  fold  1665 

Of  dire  Necessity,  whose  law  in  death  conjoined 
Thee  with  thy  slaughtered  foes,  in  number  more 
Than  all  thy  life  had  slain  before. 

Semichorus.   While  their  hearts  were  jocund  and  sublime, 
Drunk  with  idolatry,  drunk  with  wine,  v  1670 

And  fat  regorged  of  bulls  and  goatsr        \         ? 
Chaunting  their  idol,  and  preferring 
Before  our  living  Dread,  who  dwells 
In  Silo,  his  bright  sanctuary, 


242 


SAMSON  AGONISTES 

Among  them  he  a  spirit  of  phrenzy  sent,  1675 

Who  hurt  their  minds, 

And  urged  them  on  with  mad  desire 

To  call  in  haste  for  their  destroyer. 

They,  only  set  on  sport  and  play, 

Unweetingly  importuned  1680 

Their  own  destruction  to  come  speedy  upon  them. 

So  fond  are  mortal  men, 

Fallen  into  wrath  divine, 

As  their  own  ruin  on  themselves  to  invite, 

Insensate  left,  or  to  sense  reprobate,  1685 

And  with  blindness  internal  struck. 

Semichorus.   But  he,  though  blind  of  sight, 
Despised,  and  thought  extinguished  quite, 
With  inward  eyes  illuminated, 

His  fiery  virtue  roused  1690 

From  under  ashes  into  sudden  flame, 
And  as  an  evening  dragon  came, 
Assailant  on  the  perched  roosts 
And  nests  in  order  ranged 

Of  tame  villatic  fowl,  but  as  an  eagle  1695 

His  cloudless  thunder  bolted  on  their  heads. 
So  Virtue,  given  for  lost, 
Depressed  and  overthrown,  as  seemed, 
Like  that  self-begotten  bird, 

In  the  Arabian  woods  embost,  1 700 

That  no  second  knows  nor  third, 
And  lay  erewhile  a  holocaust, 
From  out  her  ashy  womb  now  teemed, 
Revives,  reflourishes,  then  vigorous  most 
When  most  unactive  deemed  ;  1 705 

And,  though  her  body  die,  her  fame  survives, 
A  secular  bird,  ages  of  lives. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  243 

Manoa.  Come,  come ;  no  time  for  lamentation  now* 
Nor  much  more  cause.  Samson  hath  quit  himself  / 
Like  Samson,  and  heroicly  hath  finished  Al10 

A  life  heroic,  on  his  enemies  / 

Fully  revenged ;  hath  left  them  years  of  mourning,/ 
And  lamentation  to  the  sons  of  Caphtor  / 

Through  all  Philistian  bounds ;  to  Israel 
Honour  hath  left  and  freedom,  let  but  them  1715 

Find  courage  to  lay  hold  on  this  occasion ; 
To  himself  and  father's  house  eternal  fame ; 
And,  which  is  best  and  happiest  yet,  all  this 
With  God  not  parted  from  him,  as  was  feared, 
But  favouring  and  assisting  to  the  end.  1720 

Nothing  is  here  for  tears,  nothing  to  wail 
Or  knock  the  breast ;  no  weakness,  no  contempt, 
Dispraise,  or  blame ;  nothing  but  well  and  fair, 
And  what  may  quiet  us  in  a  death  so  noble. 
Let  us  go  find  the  body  where  it  lies  1725 

Soaked  in  his  enemies'  blood,  and  from  the  stream 
With  lavers  pure,  and  cleansing  herbs,  wash  off 
The  clotted  gore.     I,  with  what  speed  the  while 
(Gaza  is  not  in  plight  to  say  us  nay), 
Will  send  for  all  my  kindred,  all  my  friends,  T730 

To  fetch  him  hence,  and  solemnly  attend, 
WTith  silent  obsequy  and  funeral  train, 
Home  to  his  father's  house.     There  will  I  build  him 
A  monument,  and  plant  it  round  with  shade 
Of  laurel  ever  green,  and  branching  palm,  1 735 

With  all  his  trophies  hung,  and  acts  enrolled 
In  copious  legend,  or  sweet  lyric  song. 
Thither  shall  all  the  valiant  youth  resort, 
And  from  his  memory  inflame  their  breasts 
To  matchless  valour,  and  adventures  high ;  1 740 


244  *        SAMSON  AGONISTES 

The  virgins  also  shall,  on  feastful  days, 
Visit  his  tomb  with  flowers,  only  bewailing 
His  lot  unfortunate  in  nuptial  choice, 
From  whence  captivity  and  loss  of  eyes. 

Chorus.   All  is  best,  though  we  oft  doubt,  *745 

What  the  unsearchable  dispose 
Of  Highest  Wisdom  brings  about, 
And  ever  best  found  in  the  close. 
Oft  He  seems  to  hide  his  face, 

But  unexpectedly  returns,  1750 

And  to  his  faithful  champion  hath  in  place 
Bore  witness  gloriously ;  whence  Gaza  mourns, 
And  all  that  band  them  to  resist 
His  uncontrollable  intent. 

His  servants  He,  with  new  acquist  1755 

Of  true  experience  from  this  great  event, 
With  peace  and  consolation  hath  dismissed, 
And  calm  of  mind,  all  passion  spent. 


NOTES 

A  Defence  of  the  People  of  England 

Page  2.  Salmasius  (Claudius),  Latinized  name  of  Claude  de  Saumaise, 
b.  1588,  d.  1653;  regarded  in  his  time,  throughout  Europe,  as  the  paragon 
of  scholarship;  engaged,  after  the  execution  of  Charles  I.,  to  defend  the 
royal  cause  against  the  Commonwealth,  which  he  endeavored  to  do  in  his 
Defensio  Regia  pro  Carolo  /.,  addressed  to  Charles  II.  In  this  work  he 
defines  a  king  (*  if  that,'  says  Milton,  '  may  be  said  to  be  defined  which 
he  makes  infinite ')  'to  be  a  person  in  whom  the  supreme  power  of  the 
kingdom  resides,  who  is  answerable  to  God  alone,  who  may  do  whatsoever 
pleases  him,  who  is  bound  by  no  law.' 

P.  4, 5.  single  person  :  Milton  himself,  who  replied  to  the  Eikon  Basilike, 
and  refuted  its'  maudlin  sophistry '  in  his  Eikonoklastes;  antagonist  of  mine  : 
Salmasius. 

The  Second  Defence  of  the  People  of  England 

P.  7.     one  eminent  above  the  rest :   Salmasius. 

P.  9,  10.  columns  of  Hercules  :  the  mountains  on  each  side  of  the  Straits 
of  Gibraltar.  It  was  fabled  that  they  were  formerly  one  mountain,  which 
was  rent  asunder  by  Hercules.  Triptolemus :  the  fabled  inventor  of  the 
plough  and  the  distributor  of  grain  among  men,  under  favor  of  Ceres. 

P.  10.  the  most  noble  queen  of  Sweden :  Christina,  daughter  of  Gustavus 
Adolphus. 

P.  12.  Monstrum  horrendum :  a  monster  horrible,  mis-shapen,  huge, 
deprived  of  his  eyesight;  description  of  the  Cyclops  Polyphemus,  whose 
one  eye  was  put  out  by  Ulysses.  —  VirgiPs  ALneid,  iii.  658. 

P.  14.  Tiresias  :  the  blind  prophet  of  Thebes.  Apollonius  Rhodius  : 
poet  and  rhetorician  (B.C.  280-203),  author  of  the  Argonautica,  a  heroic 
poem  on  the  Argonautic  expedition  to  Colchis  in  quest  of  the  golden  fleece. 

P.  14,  15.  Timoleon  of  Corinth:  Greek  statesman  and  general,  who 
expelled  the  tyrants  from  the  Greek  cities  of  Sicily,  and  restored  the 
democratic  form  of  government;  died  blind,  337  B.C.  Appius  Claudius: 
surnamed  Csecus  from  his  blindness.  Roman  consul,  307  and  296; 
induced  the  senate,  in  his  old  age,  to  reject  the  terms  of  peace  which 
Cineas  had  proposed  on  behalf  of  Pyrrhus.      Pyrrhus :  king  of  Epirus 

245 


246  NOTES 

(B.C.  318-272),  who  waged  war  against  the  Romans.  Cacilius  Metellus  : 
Roman  consul,  B.C.  251,  249;  pontifex  maximus  for  twenty -two  years  from 
243;  lost  his  sight  in  241  while  rescuing  the  Palladium  when  the  temple  of 
Vesta  was  on  fire.  Dandolo  (Enrico)  :  b.  uo7(?);  elected  Doge  in  1192  ; 
d.  1205.  He  was  ninety-six  years  old  when,  though  blind,  he  com- 
manded the  Venetians  at  the  taking  of  Constantinople,  June    17,  1203. 

« Oh,  for  one  hour  of  blind  old  Dandolo  ! 
The  octogenarian  chief,  Byzantium's  conquering  foe.' 

—  Byron's  Childe  Harold,  Canto  iv.  St.  xii. 

Ziska,  or  Zizka  (John):  military  chief  of  the  Hussites,  b.  1360(7), 
d.  1424;  his  real  name  was  Trocznow;  he  lost  an  eye  in  battle,  and  was 
thence  called  Ziska,  i.e.  one-eyed ;  lost  his  other  eye  from  an  arrow 
at  the  siege  of  Rubi,  but  his  blindness  did  not  prevent  his  continuing  the 
war  against  ecclesiastical  tyranny.  Jerome  Zanchius  (Girolamo  Zanchi), 
Italian  Protestant  theologian,  b.  1516,  d.  1590;  was  canon  regular  of  the 
Lateran  when  he  became  a  Protestant ;  professor  of  theology  and  philoso- 
phy, University  of  Strasburg,  1553-1563  ;  professor  of  theology,  University 
of  Heidelberg,  1568-15 76. 

P.  16.  JEsculapius :  the  god  of  medicine.  Epidaurus  (now  Epi- 
dauro)  :"  chief  seat  of  the  worship  of  .JEsculapius;  the  son  of  Thetis: 
Achilles,  the  hero  of  the  Iliad.  I  have  substituted  the  Earl  of  Derby's 
translation  of  the  lines  which  follow  from  the  Iliad,  for  that  given  by 
Robert  Fellowes. 

P.  18.  Prytaneum  :  'a  public  building  in  the  towns  of  Greece,  where 
the  Prytanes  (chief  magistrates  in  the  states)  assembled  and  took  their 
meals  together,  and  where  those  who  had  deserved  well  of  their  country 
were  maintained  during  life.' 

P.  19,  20.  born  in  London:  9th  of  December,  1608;  grammar-school : 
St.  Paul's,  notable  among  the  classical  seminaries  then  in  London.  The 
head-master  was  a  Mr.  Alexander  Gill,  Sr.,  and  the  sub-master,  or  usher, 
Mr.  Alexander  Gill,  Jr.;  with  the  latter  Milton  afterward  maintained  an 
intimate  friendship. 

P.  20.  On  my  father' s  estate:  at  Horton,  in  Buckinghamshire.  Henry 
Wotton :  at  this  time  Provost  of  Eton.  His  letter  to  Milton  is  dated 
13  April,  1638.  In  the  concluding  paragraph,  Sir  Henry  writes:  'At 
Sienna  I  was  tabled  in  the  house  of  one  Alberto  Scipioni,  an  old  Roman 
courtier  in  dangerous  times,  ...  at  my  departure  toward  Rome  (which 
had  been  the   centre  of  his  experience)  I  had  won  confidence  enough  to 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  247 

beg  his  advice,  how  I  might  carry  myself  securely  there,  without  offence 
of  others,  or  of  mine  own  conscience.  Signor  Arrigo  mio  (says  he), 
/  pensieri  stretti,  &  il  viso  sciolto :  that  is,  your  thoughts  close  and  your 
countenance  loose,  will  go  safely  over  the  whole  world.  Of  which 
Delphian  oracle  (for  so  I  have  found  it)  your  judgment  doth  need  no 
commentary  ;  and  therefore,  Sir,  I  will  commit  you  with  it  to  the  best 
of  all  securities,  God's  dear  love,  remaining  your  friend  as  much  at  com- 
mand as  any  of  longer  date.'  Milton  was  certainly  the  last  man  in  the 
world  to  make  such  a  prudential,  or  rather  crafty,  maxim  his  rule  of  con- 
duct, even  in  such  a  country  as  Italy  then  was.  He  has  stated  his  own 
rule  further  on  in  this  extract.  Thomas  Scudamore :  miswritten  for  John 
(Masson). 

P.  21.  Jacopo  Gaddi :  a  prominent  and  influential  literary  man  of 
Florence,  member  of  the  Florentine  Academy,  author  of  poems,  historical 
essays,  etc.,  in  Latin  and  in  Italian.  Carlo  Dati :  his  full  name  was 
Carlo  Ruberto  Dati ;  only  in  his  19th  year  when  Milton  visited  Florence  ; 
was  afterwards  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  the  Florentine  men  of 
letters  and  academicians ;  became  strongly  attached  to  Milton,  and  corre- 
sponded with  him  after  his  return  to  England  ;  author  of  '  Vite  de'  Pittori 
Antichi '  (Lives  of  the  Ancient  Painters)  and  numerous  other  works. 

P.  21.  Frescobaldi  (Pielro)  :  a  Florentine  academician.  Coltellini 
(Agostino) :  a  Florentine  advocate  ;  founder  of  an  academy  under  the 
name  of  the  Apatisti  (the  Indifferents).  '  Such  were  the  attractions  of 
this  academy,  and  so  energetic  was  Coltellini  in  its  behalf,  that  within  ten 
or  twenty  years  after  its  foundation  it  had  a  fame  among  the  Italian 
academies  equal,  in  some  respects,  to  that  of  the  first  and  oldest,  and 
counted  among  its  members  not  only  all  the  eminent  Florentines,  but  most 
of  the  distinguished  literati  of  Italy,  besides  cardinals,  Italian  princes  and 
dukes,  many  foreign  nobles  and  scholars,  and  at  least  one  pope.'  —  Masson. 
Bonmattei,  or  Buommattei  {Benedetto)  :  an  eminent  member  of  various 
Florentine  and  other  academies  ;  author  of  various  works,  among  them  a 
commentary  on  parts  of  Dante,  and  a  standard  treatise,  Delia  Lingua 
Toscana  ;  by  profession  a  priest.  Chimentelli  (  Valerio)  :  a  priest ;  pro- 
fessor of  Greek,  and  then  of  Eloquence  and  Politics,  in  Pisa  ;  author  of  an 
archaeological  work,  entitled  Marmor  Pisanum.  Francini  (Antonio)  : 
Florentine  academician  and  poet.  Lucas  Holstenius  (in  the  vernacular, 
Lukas  Holste,  or  Holsten),  secretary  to  Cardinal  Barberini,  and  one  of  the 
librarians  of  the  Vatican.  Manso :  author  of  a  Life  of  Tasso,  1619.  Milton, 
just  before  leaving  Naples,  addressed  to  him  his  Latin  poem,  Mansus. 


248 


NOTES 


P.  22.  so  little  reserve  on  matters  of  religion :  here  it  appears  that  he 
did  not  make  Sir  Henry  Wotton's  prudential  maxim  his  rule  of  conduct. 

P.  22,  23.  the  slandering  More  (Lat.  Moms),  Alexander:  a  Reformed 
minister,  then  resident  in  Holland,  and  at  one  time  a  friend  of  Salmasius. 
He  had  formerly  been  Professor  of  Greek  in  the  University  of  Geneva. 
The  real  author  of  the  Regit  Sanguinis  Clamor  was  the  Rev.  Dr.  Peter 
Du  Moulin,  the  younger,  made,  1660,  a  prebendary  of  Canterbury.  More 
was,  indeed,  the  publisher  of  the  book,  the  corrector  of  the  press,  and 
author  of  the  dedicatory  preface  in  the  printer's  name,  to  Charles  II. 
Milton  fully  believed  when  he  wrote  the  Second  Defence  that  More  was 
the  author  of  the  R.  S.  C,  having  received  convincing  assurances  that  he 
was.  Diodati  (Dr.  Jean,  or  Giovanni),  uncle  of  Milton's  friend,  Carolo 
Diodati.  He  made  the  Italian  translation  of  the  Scriptures,  known  as 
Diodati's  Bible,  published  in  1607.  at  the  time  when  Charles,  etc.: 
Milton's  return  to  England  was  not,  as  he  himself  (by  a  slip  of  memory, 
no  doubt)  states,  '  at  the  time  when  Charles,  having  broken  the  peace  with 
the  Scots,  was  renewing  the  second  of  those  wars  named  Episcopal,'  but 
exactly  a  twelvemonth  previous  to  that  time,  and  about  eight  months 
before  the  meeting  of  the  Short  Parliament.  —  Keightley. 

P.  24.  two  books  to  a  friend:  'Of  Reformation  in  England,  and  the 
causes  that  hitherto  have  hindered  it.  1641.'  two  bishops:  Dr.  Joseph 
Hall  (1574-1656),  Bishop  of  Exeter,  afterward  Bishop  of  Norwich  ;  and 
Dr.  James  Usher  (1 580-1 656),  Archbishop  of  Armagh  and  Primate  of 
Ireland.  Concerning  Prelatical  Episcopacy :  the  full  title  is,  '  Of  prelatical 
episcopacy,  and  whether  it  may  be  deduced  from  the  apostolical  times,  by 
virtue  of  those  testimonies  which  are  alleged  to  that  purpose  in  some  late 
treatises;  one  whereof  goes  under  the  name  of  James,  Archbishop  of 
Armagh.  1641.'  Concerning  the  mode  of  ecclesiastical  government :  'The 
reason  of  church  government  urged  against  prelaty.     1641.' 

P.  24.  Animadversions :  '  Animadversions  upon  the  remonstrant's 
defence  against  Smectymnuus.     1641.' 

P.  24.  Apology  :'  An  apology  for  Smectymnuus.'  1642.  The  pamphlet 
by  Smectymnuus  was  published  with  the  following  title,  which  is  suffi- 
ciently descriptive  of  its  character :  *  An  Answer  to  a  Book  entituled  "  An 
Humble  Remonstrance"  [by  Bishop  Hall],  in  which  the  originall  of 
Liturgy  [and]  Episcopacy  is  discussed  and  quaeres  propounded  concerning 
both,  the  parity  of  Bishops  and  Presbyters  in  Scripture  demonstrated,  the 
occasion  of  their  unparity  in  Antiquity  discovered,  the  disparity  of  the 
ancient  and  our  modern  Bishops  manifested,  the  antiquity  of  Ruling  Elders 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  249 

in  the  Church  vindicated,  the  Prelaticall  Church  bounded :  Written  by 
Smectymnuus.'  1641.  The  pamphlet  was  the  joint  production  of  five 
Presbyterian  clergymen,  Stephen  Marshall,  Edmund  Calamy,  Thomas 
Young,  Matthew  Newcomen,  and  William  Spurstow,  but  written  for  the 
most  part  by  Thomas  Young,  Milton's  former  tutor.  The  name  Smec- 
tymnuus was  made  up  from  the  several  authors'  initials:  S.  M.,  E.  C, 
T.  Y.,  M.  N.,  U.  U.  (for  W.)  S. 

P.  24.  the  domestic  species:  the  titles  of  the  pamphlets  on  marriage 
and  divorce  are:  'The  Doctrine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce,'  1643,  io44; 
'The  Judgment  of  Martin  Bucer  concerning  Divorce,'  1644;  'Tetrachor- 
don :  expositions  upon  the  four  chief  places  in  Scripture  which  treat  of 
marriage,  or  nullities  in  marriage,'  1644;  '  Colasterion :  a  reply  to  a  name- 
less answer  against  the  Doctrine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce,'  1645. 

P.  25.  Selden  {John),  1 584-1 654,  celebrated  English  lawyer,  statesman, 
and  political  writer.  His  '  Table  Talk '  was  long  famous,  '  being  his  sense 
of  various  matters  of  weight  and  high  consequence,  relating  especially  to 
religion  and  state.' 

P.  25.  an  inferior  at  home  :  many  passages  in  Milton's  works,  poetical 
and  prose,  indicate,  on  his  part,  an  estimate  of  woman  which  may  be  at- 
tributed, in  some  measure,  at  least,  to  his  unfortunate  first  marriage.  His 
own  opinions  of  what  should  be  the  relation  of  wife  to  husband  he,  no 
doubt,  expressed  in  the  following  passages  in  the  '  Paradise  Lost,'  Book  iv. 
635-638,  x.  145-156,  xi.  287-292,  629-636;  and  in  the  'Samson  Ago- 
nistes,'  105 3- 1060.  But  no  one  can  read  the  several  treatises  on  Divorce 
without  being  impressed  with  the  loftiness  of  Milton's  ideal  of  marriage, 
and  his  sense  of  the  sacred  duties  appertaining  thereto.  The  only  true 
marriage  with  him  was  the  union  of  souls,  as  well  as  of  bodies,  souls 
whom  God  hath  joined  together  (Matt.  xix.  6,  Mark  x.  9),  not  the  priest 
nor  the  magistrate. 

P.  25.  the  principles  of  education:  '  Of  Education.  To  Master  Samuel 
Hartlib.'  1644.  Hartlib  was  nominally  a  merchant  in  London,  a  foreigner 
by  birth,  the  son  of  a  Polish  merchant  of  German  extraction,  settled  in 
Elbing,  in  Prussia,  whose  wife  was  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  English 
merchant  of  Dantzic.  He  was  a  reformer  and  philanthropist,  and  an 
advocate  of  the  views  of  the  educational  reformer,  Comenius. 

P.  25.  lAreopagitica  :  a  speech  for"  the  liberty  of  unlicensed  printing, 
to  the  Parliament  of  England.'     1644. 

P.  26.  what  might  lawfully  be  done  against  tyrants  :  in  his  pamphlet 
entitled,  '  The  Tenure  of  Kings  and  Magistrates  :  proving  that  it  is  lawfu1, 


250 


NOTES 


and  hath  been  held  so  through  all  ages,  for  any,  who  have  the  power,  to  call 
to  account  a  tyrant  or  wicked  king,  and,  after  due  conviction,  to  depose, 
and  put  him  to  death,  if  the  ordinary  magistrate  have  neglected,  or  denied 
to  do  it ;  and  that  they  who  of  late  so  much  blame  deposing  are  the  men 
that  did  it  themselves.     The  author  J.  M.     1649.' 

P.  27.  history  of  my  country :  '  The  History  of  Britain;  that  part  espe- 
cially now  called  England.  From  the  first  traditional  beginning  continued 
to  the  Norman  Conquest.' 

P.  27.  I  had  already  finished  four  books:  i.e.  in  1648;  the  work  was  not 
published  till  1670.  It  contained  the  fine  portrait  of  Milton,  by  William 
Faithorne,  for  which  he  sat  in  his  62d  year. 

P.  27.  A  book  .  .  .  ascribed  to  the  king  :  ten  days  after  the  king's  death, 
was  published  (9  Feb.  1649),  'Ekc*>j>  BaaiXiK-q:  The  True  Portraicture  of 
His  Sacred  Majestie  in  his  Solitudes  and  Sufferings.  —  Rom.  viii.  More  than 
conquerour,  &c.  —  Bona  agere  et  mala  pad  Regium  est.  —  MDCXLVHI.' 
The  book  professed  to  be  the  king's  own  production,  and  Milton  answered 
it  as  such,  tho'  it  appears  he  had  his  suspicions  as  to  its  authorship.  It 
was  universally  regarded,  at  the  time,  as  the  king's;  but  it  was  before  long 
well  known  (though  the  controversy  as  to  the  authorship  was  long  after 
kept  up)  to  have  been  written  by  Dr.  John  Gauden,  Rector  of  Booking, 
and,  after  the  Restoration,  Bishop  of  Exeter,  and,  a  short  time  before  his 
death,  Bishop  of  Worcester.  Milton's  reply,  published  6th  of  Oct.,  1649, 
is  entitled  'EIKONOKAA'STHS  in  Answer  To  a  Book  Intitl'd  E'lKiTN 
BASIAIKH',  The  Portrature  of  his  Sacred  Majesty  in  his  Solitudes  and 
Sufferings.    The  Author  I.  M. 

Prov.  xxviii.  15,  16,  17. 

15.  As  a  roaring  Lyon,  and  a  ranging  Beare,  so  is  a  wicked  Ruler  over 
the  poor  people. 

1 6.  The  Prince  that  wanteth  understanding,  is  also  a  great  oppressor ; 
but  he  that  hateth  covetousnesse  shall  prolong  his  dayes. 

1 7.  A  man  that  doth  violence  to  the  blood  of  any  person,  shall  fly  to 
the  pit,  let  no  man  stay  him. 

Salust.  Conjurat.  Catilin. 
Regium  imperium,  quod  initio,  conservandae  libertatis,  atque  augendse 
reipub.  causi  fuerat,  in  superbiam,  dominationemque  se  convertit. 

Regibus  boni,  quam  mali,  suspectiores  sunt;  semperque  his  aliena  virtus 
formidolosa  est. 

Quidlibet  impune  facere,  hoc  scilicet  regium  est. 
Published  by  Authority. 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  25  I 

London,  Printed  by  Matthew  Simmons,  next  dore  to  the  gilded  Lyon  in 
Aldersgate  street.      1649.' 

P.  27.  Salmasius  then  appeared :  that  is,  with  his  Defensio  Regia  pro 
Car  oh  1. 

To  Charles  Diodati 

P.  28.  Chester's  Dee :  the  old  city  of  Chester  is  situated  on  the  Dee 
(Lat.  Deva.). 

P.  28.      Vergivian  wave  (Lat.  Vergivium  salum)  :  the  Irish  Sea. 

P.  28.  it  is  not  my  care  to  revisit  the  reedy  Cam,  etc. :  this  was  the 
period  of  his  rustication  from  Christ's  College,  Cambridge,  due,  it  seems,  to 
some  difficulty  which  Milton  had  with  his  tutor,  Mr.  Chappell. 

P.  28.  the  tearful  exile  in  the  Pontic  territory  :  Ovid,  who  was  rele- 
gated (rather  than  exiled)  to  Tomi,  a  town  on  the  Euxine. 

P.  28.     Maro :  the  Latin  poet,  Publius  Virgilius  Maro. 

P.  29.  or  the  unhappy  boy  .  .  .  or  the  fierce  avenger :  as  Masson 
suggests,  the  allusions  here  may  be  to  Shakespeare's  Romeo  and  the 
Ghost  in  Hamlet. 

P.  29.   the  house  of  Pelops,  etc. :  subjects  of  the  principal  Greek  tragedies. 

P.  29.  the  arms  of  living  Pelops :  an  allusion  to  the  ivory  shoulder  of 
Pelops,  by  which,  when  he  was  restored  to  life  after  having  been  served 
up  at  a  feast  of  the  gods,  given  by  his  father  Tantalus,  the  shoulder  con- 
sumed by  Ceres  was  replaced. 

P.  30.  thy  own  flower  :  the  anemone  into  which  Adonis  was  turned  by 
Venus,  after  his  dying  of  a  wound  received  from  a  wild  boar  during  the  chase. 

P.  30.  alternate  measures  :  the  alternate  hexameters  and  pentameters 
of  the  Elegy. 

To  Alexander  Gill,  fr.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  III.) 

P.  30.  Alexander  Gill,  Jr. :  Gill  was  Milton's  tutor  in  St.  Paul's 
School,  of  which  his  father,  Alexander  Gill,  was  head-master.  Milton  was 
sent  to  this  school  in  his  twelfth  year  (1620),  and  remained  there  till  his 
seventeenth  year  (1625).  He  was  entered  very  soon  after  at  Christ's 
College,  Cambridge,  beginning  residence  in  the  Easter  term  of  1625. 

To   Thomas   Young.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  IV.) 

P.  31.  Thomas  Young:  Young  had  been  Milton's  tutor  before 
he  entered  St.  Paul's  School,  and  later;  he  was  one  of  the  authors  of  the 
Smectymnuan  pamphlet;  was  appointed  Master  of  Jesus  College,  Cam- 
bridge, in  1644. 


252 


NOTES 


P.  31.  Stoa  of  the  Iceni  (Lat.  Stoam  Icenorutri)  :  a  pun  for  Stowmarket 
in  Suffolk,  the  Iceni  having  been  the  inhabitants  of  the  parts  of  Roman 
Britain  corresponding  to  Suffolk,  Cambridgeshire,  etc.  —  Masson.  Their 
queen  was  Boadicea,  who  led  their  revolt  against  the  Romans. 

P.  31.  Zeno :  Greek  philosopher  (about  358-260  B.C.),  father  of  the 
Stoic  philosophy,  so  called  from  his  teaching  in  the  Stoa  Pcecile,  in  Athens, 
in  which  were  the  frescoes  of  Polygnotus  (about  480-430  B.C.). 

P.  31.  Serranus :  an  agnomen,  or  fourth  name,  given  to  L.  Quinctius 
Cincinnatus;  Roman  consul  460  B.C.;  in  458  called  from  the  plough  to  the 
dictatorship,  whence  called  by  Florus,  Dictator  ab  aratro ;  the  agnomen 
is  said  to  have  been  derived  from  severe,  to  sow;  'Quis  te,  magne  Cato, 
taciturn,  aut  te,  Cosse,  relinquat  ?  .  .  .  vel  te  sulco,  Serrane,  serentem ' 
(Who  can  leave  thee  unmentioned,  great  Cato,  or  thee,  Cossus?  .  .  , 
or  thee,  Serranus,  sowing  in  the  furrow). — ALneid,  vi.  844. 

P.  31.  Curius :  M'.  Curius  Dentatus,  noted  for  his  fortitude  and 
frugality;  consul  B.C.  290;  a  second  time  275,  when  he  defeated  Pyrrhus, 
king  of  Epirus;  consul  a  third  time,  274;  afterward  retired  to  his  small 
farm,  which  he  cultivated  himself. 

To  Charles  Diodati,  making  a  Stay  in  the  Country 

P.  32.     Erato:   the  muse  of  erotic  poetry. 

P.  32.     the  fierce  dog:   Cerberus. 

P.  32.     the  Samian  master  :   Pythagoras,  who  was  a  native  of  Samos. 

P.  32.  Tiresias :  the  Theban  prophet,  deprived  of  sight  by  Juno; 
Jupiter,  in  compensation,  bestowed  upon  him  the  power  of  prophecy. 

P.  32.      Theban  Linus :  the  singer  and  philosopher. 

P.  32.  Calchas  the  exile  :  a  famous  soothsayer,  who  accompanied  the 
Greeks  to  Troy. 

P.  32.     Orpheus :   the  fabulous  Thracian  poet  and  musician. 

P.  32.     Circe  :   See  Comus,  50-53. 

P.  33.  the  heavenly  birth  of  the  King  of  Peace :  his  ode  On  the  Morn- 
ing of  Christ's  Nativity,  composed  on  and  just  after  Christmas,  1629. 

Ad  Patrem 

P.  35.  I.  Pieria's:  used  for  Pierian,  from  Pierus,  a  mountain  of 
Thessaly  sacred  to  the  muses. 

P.  36.  18.  Clio:  the  Muse  of  History,  'inasmuch,'  says  Masson,  'as 
what  he  is  to  say  about  his  Father  is  strictly  true.' 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  253 

P.  36.  22.  Promethean  fire :  the  fire  which  Prometheus  brought  down 
from  heaven. 

P.  37.  44.  Ophiuchus:  i.e.  a  serpent  holder  (6<pis  +  exetv)  >  a  con- 
stellation in  the  northern  hemisphere,  the  outline  of  which  is  imagined  to 
be  a  man  holding  a  serpent;  called  also  Anguitenens  and  Serpentarius, 
which  have  the  same  meaning;  Ophiuchus  is  the  translator's  word;  the 
original  is  sibila  serpens,  the  hissing  serpent. 

P.  37.  45.  Orion:  a  constellation  with  sword,  belt,  and  club;  'Orion 
arm'd.'  —  P.  L.,  i.  305. 

P-  37-  5°-  Lyceus :  an  epithet  of  Bacchus  as  the  deliverer  from  care 
(Gk.  Xuafos). 

P-  37-     53-  Proposed:  set  forth. 

P.  37.  55.  to  imitation:  i.e.  for  imitation,  to  be  imitated,  i.e.  the 
character  of  heroes  and  their  deeds. 

P.  38.     92.  Streams  Aonian  :  so  called  as  if  the  resort  of  the  muses. 

P.  39.     1 20.  the  boy :  Phaethon. 

P.  40.  141-148.  Ye  too,  .  .  .  my  voluntary  numbers:  it  does  not 
seem  to  me  improbable  that  these  six  lines  [1 15-120  of  the  original]  were 
added  to  the  poem  just  before  its  publication  in  the  volume  of  1645.  The 
phrase  '  juvenilia  carmina '  seems  to  refer  to  that  volume  as  containing 
this  piece  among  others.  Anyhow,  it  was  a  beautiful  ending  and  pro- 
phetic. —  Masson. 

An  English  Letter  to  a  Friend 

P.  40.  English  letter  to  a  friend :  this  letter  of  which  there  are  two 
undated  drafts  in  Milton's  handwriting  in  the  Library  of  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge,  must  have  been  written  in  1632  or  1633.  In  the  second  draft 
(which  is  given  in  the  text),  Milton  is  content,  for  the  first  few  sentences, 
with  simply  correcting  the  language  of  the  first;  but  in  the  remaining 
portion  he  throws  the  first  draft  all  but  entirely  aside,  and  rewrites  the 
same  meaning  more  at  large  in  a  series  of  new  sentences.  Evidently  he 
took  pains  with  the  letter.  — Masson. 

P.  41.  tale  of  Latmus :  i.e.  of  Endymion's  sleeping  upon  Mount 
Latmus,  and  of  his  being  visited  by  Selene  (the  moon). 

P.  42.  5.  Perhaps  my  semblance  might  deceive  the  truth :  i.e.  he 
appears  younger  than  he  really  is.  In  his  Second  Defence,  he  says, '  though 
I  am  more  than  forty  years  old,  there  is  scarcely  any  one  to  whom  I  do  not 
appear  ten  years  younger  than  I  am.' 

P.  42.  8.  timely-happy :  happy,  or  fortunate,  in  the  matter  of  inward 
ripeness. 


254 


NOTES 


P.  42.      10.  it:  *  inward  ripeness.' 

P.  42.  it  shall  be  still :  Milton  very  early  regarded  himself  as  dedi- 
cated to  the  performance  of  some  great  work  for  which  he  had  to  make 
adequate  preparation,  in  the  way  of  building  himself  up;  even :  equal,  in 
proportion  to,  in  conformity  with. 

P.  43.  Your  true  and  unfeigned  friend,  etc. :  see  penultimate  sen- 
tence of  the  passage  given,  p.  65,  from  '  The  Reason  of  Church  Govern- 
ment urged  against  Prelaty.' 

To  Alexander  Gill,  fr.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  V.) 

P.  43.      this  ode  :  Psalm  cxiv. 

To  Charles  Diodati.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  VI.) 

P.  44.  To  Charles  Diodati :  Milton's  schoolfellow  at  St.  Paul's,  and 
his  dearest  friend;  he  died  in  August,  1638,  while  Milton  was  on  his  Con- 
tinental tour;  on  his  return  he  wrote  the  In  mentor iam  poem,  Epitaphium 
Damonis. 

To  Benedetto  Bonmattei  of  Florence.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  VIII.  J 

P.  46.  To  Benedetto  Bonmattei :  mentioned  by  Milton  among  his 
Florentine  friends,  in  the  autobiographical  passage  in  the  Second  Defence; 
see  note,  p.  247. 

Mansus 

P.  47.     our  native  kings :  the  ancient  kings  of  Britain. 

P.  47.  stirring  wars  even  under  the  earth  :  King  Arthur,  after  his 
death,  was  supposed  to  be  carried  into  the  subterraneous  land  of  Faerie, 
or  of  Spirits,  where  he  still  reigned  as  a  king,  and  whence  he  was  to  return 
into  Britain,  to  renew  the  Round  Table,  conquer  all  his  old  enemies,  and 
reestablish  his  throne.  He  was,  therefore,  etiam  movens  bella  sub  terris, 
still  meditating  wars  under  the  earth.  The  impulse  of  his  attachment  to 
this  subject  was  not  entirely  suppressed;  it  produced  his  History  of  Bri- 
tain. By  the  expression  revocabo  in  carmina,  the  poet  means,  that  these 
ancient  kings,  which  were  once  the  themes  of  the  British  bards,  should 
now  again  be  celebrated  in  verse. —  Warton.  Warton  renders  bella 
moventem  [v.  81  of  the  Latin]  meditating  wars,  but  that  is  not  the  true 
sense;  it  is  waging  wars,  and  Arthur  is  represented  as  so  employed  in 
Fairy-land  in  the  romances.  —  Keightley. 

P.  47.  Paphian  myrtle:  the  myrtle  was  sacred  to  Venus;  Paphos 
was  an  ancient  city  of  Cyprus,  where  was  a  temple  of  Venus. 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  2$$ 

Areopagitica 

P.  48.  Galileo :  b.  1564,  d.  1642;  he  was  seventy-four  years  old  when 
Milton  visited  him  in  1638;  whether  he  was  actually  imprisoned  at  the 
time  is  somewhat  uncertain;  he  may  have  been,  as  Hales  suggests,  in 
libera  custodia,  i.e.  '  only  kept  under  a  certain  restraint,  as  that  he  should 
not  move  away  from  a  specified  neighborhood,  or  perhaps  a  special  house. 

P.  48.  never  be  forgotten  by  any  revolution  of  time :  i.e.  as  Hales 
explains,  caused  to  be  forgotten. 

P.  48.     other  parts :  i.e.  of  the  world. 

P.  48.  in  time  of  parliament :  there  was  no  parliament  assembled 
from  1629  to  1640. 

P.  48.     without  envy  :  without  exciting  any  odium  against  me.  —  Hales. 

P.  48.     he  whom  an  honest  quastorship  :  Cicero,  75  B.C. 

P.  48.  Verres:  pro-praetor  in  Sicily,  73-71  B.C.  Cicero's  Verrine 
orations  were  directed  against  his  extortions  and  exactions. 

To  Lucas  Holstenius.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  IX.) 

P.  49.     Lucas  Holstenius :  see  note,  p.  21. 

P.  49.  Alexander  Cherubini :  Roman  friend  of  Milton,  '  known  in 
his  lifetime  as  a  prodigy  of  erudition,  though  he  died  at  the  early  age  of 
twenty-eight.' 

P.  49.  Virgil'1  s  *  penitus  convalle  virenW  :  Virgil's  *  souls  enclosed 
within  a  verdant  valley,  and  about  to  go  to  the  upper  light.' 

P.  49.  Cardinal  Francesco  Barberini  :  b.  1597,  d.  1 679;  librarian  of 
the  Vatican,  and  founder  of  the  Barberini  Library. 

Epitaphium  Damonis 
P.  50.  In  the  British  legends  of  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  and  others,  the 
mythical  Brutus,  before  arriving  in  Britain  with  his  Trojans,  marries  Imogen, 
daughter  of  the  Grecian  king  Pandrasus;  Brennus  and  Belinus  are  two 
legendary  British  princes  of  a  much  later  age,  sons  of  King  Dunwallo 
Molmutius;  Arvirach  or  Arviragus,  son  of  Cunobeline,  or  Cymbeline, 
belongs  to  the  time  of  the  Roman  conquest  of  Britain;  the  "Armorican 
settlers  "  are  the  Britons  who  removed  to  the  French  coast  of  Armonica  to 
avoid  the  invading  Saxons;  Uther  Pendragon,  Igraine,  Gorlois,  Merlin, 
and  Arthur  are  familiar  names  of  the  Arthurian  romances. — Masson. 

Of  Reformation  in  England 
P.  52.     their  damned  designs  :  the  restoration  of  Papacy  and  ecclesias- 
tical despotism. 


256  NOTES 

P.  53.  antichristian  thraldom :  he  would  seem  to  allude  to  the  in- 
vasions of  England  by  the  Romans,  Saxons,  Danes  (twice),  and  Normans, 
and  the  War  of  the  Roses,  followed  by  the  partial  reformation  under  Henry 
Wlll.  —  Keightley. 

P.  53.  Thule :  some  undetermined  island  or  other  land,  regarded  as 
the  northernmost  part  of  the  earth;  called  in  Latin  Ultima  Thule ;  often 
used  metaphorically  for  an  extreme  limit. 

P.  53.  that  horrible  and  damned  blast:  Keightley  understands  this  as 
referring  to  the  Gunpowder  plot. 

P.  53.  that  sad  intelligencing  tyrant :  Philip  IV.,  King  of  Spain  from 
1621  to  1665. 

P.  53.     mines  of  Ophir :  used  in  a  general  sense  for  gold  mines. 

P.  53.  his  naval  ruins  :  an  allusion  to  the  destruction  of  the  Spanish 
armada,  in  1588,  in  the  reign  of  his  grandfather,  Philip  II. 

P.  54.  in  this  land :  when  Milton  wrote  this,  he  must  still  have  been 
meditating  a  poem  to  be  based  on  British  history. 

Animadversions  upon  the  Remonstrant 's  Defence,  etc. 

P.  56.  and  thou  standing  at  the  door :  see  introductory  remarks  on 
Lycidas. 

The  Reason  of  Church  Government  urged  against  Prelaty 

P.  57.  Slothful,  and  ever  to  be  set  light  by:  thou  slothful  one,  and 
ever,  etc. 

P.  57.     infancy :  not  speaking. 

P.  58.    preventive :  going  before,  forecasting,  anticipative. 

P.  58.     equal :  impartial,  equitable;   Lat.  cequalis. 

P.  58.  the  elegant  and  learned  reader :  him  only  Milton  addressed, 
not  the  common  reader.     He  was  no  demagogue. 

P.  58.  anything  elaborately  composed:  he  had  his  meditated  great 
work  in  mind. 

P.  59.     another  task  :  poetical  composition. 

P.  59.     empyreal  conceit :  lofty  conceit  of  himself. 

P.  59.     envy:  odium;   Lat.  invidia. 

P.  60.  Ariosto  (Lodovico)  :  Italian  poet;  b.  1474,  d.  1533;  author  of 
the  Orlando  Furioso. 

P.  60.  Bembo  (Pietro)  :  b.  1470,  d.  1547;  secretary  to  Pope  Leo  X.; 
Cardinal,  1539;   famous  as  a  Latin  scholar. 

P.  60.     wits :  geniuses. 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  257 

P.  61.  Taste  (Torquato)  :  Italian  poet;  b.  1544,0!.  1595;  author  of 
the  Gerusalcmme  Liberata  (Jerusalem  Delivered). 

P.  61.     a  prince  of  Italy  :  Alfonso  II.,  Duke  of  Ferrara? 

P.  61.  Godfrey's  expedition  against  the  Infidels  :  the  subject  of  Tasso's 
Jerusalem  Delivered;  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  leader  of  the  first  crusade; 
b.  about  1058,  d.  1100. 

P.  61.  Belisarius :  a  celebrated  general,  in  the  reign  of  Justinian; 
b.  about  505.A.D.,  d.  565. 

P.  61.  Charlemagne  (or  Charles  the  Great)  :  b.  742,  d.  814;  Em- 
peror of  the  West  and  King  of  the  Franks. 

P.  61.     doctrinal  and  exemplary  :  instructive  and  serving  for  example. 

P.  61.     Origen:  Christian  Father,  of  Alexandria  (185-254). 

P.  61.  Parens  (David) :  b.  1548,  d.  1622;  a  Calvinist  theologian, 
Professor  of  Theology,  University  of  Heidelberg. 

P.  62.     Pindarus:  Greek  lyric  poet,  about  522-442  B.C. 

P.  62.     Callimachus:  Greek  poet  and  grammarian,  about  310-235  B.C. 

P.  62.  most  an  end :  'almost  uninterruptedly,  almost  always,  mostly, 
for  the  most  part.'  —  Murray's  New  English  Dictionary,  s.v.  *  an  end.' 
The  phrase  occurs  again  in  Chap.  III.  Book  II.  of  this  same  pamphlet : 
'  the  patients,  which  most  an  end  are  brought  into  his  [the  civil  magis- 
trate's] hospital,  are  such  as  are  far  gone,'  etc.  Vol.  II.  p.  491,  of  the 
Bohn  ed.  of  the  P.  W. 

P.  63.     demean:  conduct;   O.  Fr.  demener. 

P.  63.  such  (sports,  etc.)  as  were  authorized  a  while  since  :  i.e.  in  the 
Book  of  Sports.     Proclamation  allowing  Sunday  sports,  issued  by  James  I. 

P.  63.    paneguries  :  same  as  panegyrics. 

P.  64.  Siren  daughters  :  the  Muses,  daughters  of  Memory  or  Mnemo- 
syne. 

P.  65.  gentle  apprehension :  a  refined  faculty  of  conception  or  per- 
ception. 

Apology  for  Smectymnuus 

P.  66.  Solon  :  Athenian  statesman  and  lawgiver,  about  638-558  B.C. 
'  According  to  Suidas  it  was  a  law  of  Solon  that  he  who  stood  neuter  in 
any  public  sedition,  should  be  declared  foi^os,  infamous.' 

P.  66.     doubted :  hesitated;   or,  perhaps,  in  the  sense  of  feared. 

P.  66.     most  nominated  :  most  frequently  named,  most  prominent. 

P.  66,  67.     my  certain  account :  the  account  which   I   shall  certainly 
have  to  render, 
s 


258 


NOTES 


P.  67.  tired  out  almost  a  whole  youth  :  see  the  extract  given  from 
« The  Reason  of  Church  Government  urged  against  Prelaty.' 

P.  67.  this  modest  confuter :  Dr.  Joseph  Hall,  Bishop  of  Exeter,  after- 
ward of  Norwich;  the  reference  is  to  his  'Modest  Confutation'  of  Milton's 
•  Animadversions.' 

P.  69.  Animadversions :  'A.  upon  the  Remonstrant's  Defence  against 
Smectymnuus.'     1641. 

P.  69.     devised :  described,  represented. 

P.  70.  conversation  :  in  New  Testament  sense,  mode  or  way  of  life, 
conduct,  deportment  (avaarpocpTi). 

P.  70.     apology  :  defence,  vindication. 

P.  71.    propense :  inclined,  disposed. 

P.  71.     that  place :  the  University. 

P.  71.  to  obtain  with  me :  prevail,  succeed  with  me,  to  get  the  better 
of. 

P.  71.  both  she  or  her  sister  :  Cambridge  or  Oxford  University;  'both  ' 
requires  '  and ' ;   '  or '  requires  '  either.' 

P.  71.  that  suburb  sink:  the  'pretty  garden-house  in  Aldersgate 
street,'  as  his  nephew,  Edward  Phillips  styles  it,  to  which  he  removed  from 
'his  lodgings  in  St.  Bride's  Churchyard,'  in  1640,  and  where  he  was  living 
when  he  wrote  his  '  Apology  for  Smectymnuus.' 

P.  72.  I  never  greatly  admired,  so  now  much  less  :  in  'The  Reason  of 
Church  Government  urged  against  Prelaty '  ('  The  Conclusion.  The  mis- 
chief that  Prelaty  does  in  the  State'),  Milton  writes:  'The  service  of  God, 
who  is  truth,  her  ( Prelaty 's)  liturgy  confesses  to  be  perfect  freedom;  but 
her  works  and  her  opinions  declare  that  the  service  of  prelaty  is  perfect 
slavery,  and  by  consequence  perfect  falsehood.  Which  makes  me  wonder 
much  that  many  of  the  gentry,  studious  men  as  I  hear,  should  engage 
themselves  to  write  and  speak  publicly  in  her  defence;  but  that  I  believe 
their  honest  and  ingenuous  natures  coming  to  the  universities  to  store  them- 
selves with  good  and  solid  learning,  and  there  unfortunately  fed  with  noth- 
ing else  but  the  scragged  and  thorny  lectures  of  monkish  and  miserable 
sophistry,  were  sent  home  again  with  such  a  scholastic  bur  in  their 
throats,  as  hath  stopped  and  hindered  all  true  and  generous  philosophy 
from  entering,  cracked  their  voices  for  ever  with  metaphysical  gargarisms, 
and  hath  made  them  admire  a  sort  of  formal  outside  men  prelatically 
addicted,  whose  unchastened  and  unwrought  minds  were  never  yet  initiated 
or  subdued  under  the  true  lore  of  religion  or  moral  virtue,  which  two  are 
the  best  and  greatest  points  of  learning;   but  either  slightly  trained  up  in  a 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  259 

kind  of  hypocritical  and  hackney  course  of  literature  to  get  their  living  by, 
and  dazzle  the  ignorant,  or  else  fondly  over-studied  in  useless  controver- 
sies, except  those  which  they  use  with  all  the  specious  and  delusive 
subtlety  they  are  able,  to  defend  their  prelatical  Sparta.' 

P.  72.     wisses  :  knows. 

P.  72.     the  bird  that  first  rouses  :  the  lark;  see  '  L' Allegro,'  41  et  seq. 

P.  72.  old  cloaks,  false  beards,  night-walkers,  and  salt  lotion:  the 
passage  alluded  to  in  the  '  Animadversions,'  is  the  following :  '  We  know 
where  the  shoe  wrings  you,  you  fret  and  are  galled  at  the  quick;  and  oh 
what  a  death.it  is  to  the  prelates  to  be  thus  unvisarded,  thus  uncased,  to 
have  the  periwigs  plucked  off,  that  cover  your  baldness,  your  inside  naked- 
ness thrown  open  to  public  view !  The  Romans  had  a  time,  once  every 
year,  when  their  slaves  might  freely  speak  their  minds;  it  were  hard  if  the 
free-born  people  of  England,  with  whom  the  voice  of  truth  for  these  many 
years,  even  against  the  proverb,  hath  not  been  heard  but  in  corners,  after 
all  your  monkish  prohibitions,  and  expurgatorious  indexes,  your  gags  and 
snaffles,  your  proud  Imprimaturs  not  to  be  obtained  without  the  shallow 
surview,  but  not  shallow  hand  of  some  mercenary,  narrow-souled,  and 
illiterate  chaplain;  when  liberty  of  speaking,  than  which  nothing  is  more 
sweet  to  man,  was  girded  and  strait-laced  almost  to  a  brokenwinded 
phthisic,  if  now,  at  a  good  time,  our  time  of  parliament,  the  very  jubilee 
and  resurrection  of  the  state,  if  now  the  concealed,  the  aggrieved,  and 
long-persecuted  truth,  could  not  be  suffered  to  speak;  and  though  she 
burst  out  with  some  efficacy  of  words,  could  not  be  excused  after  such  an 
injurious  strangle  of  silence,  nor  avoid  the  censure  of  libelling,  it  were 
hard,  it  were  something  pinching  in  a  kingdom  of  free  spirits.  Some 
princes,  and  great  statists,  have  thought  it  a  prime  piece  of  necessary 
policy,  to  thrust  themselves  under  disguise  into  a  popular  throng,  to  stand 
the  night  long  under  eaves  of  houses,  and  low  windows,  that  they  might 
hear  everywhere  the  utterances  of  private  breasts,  and  amongst  them  find 
out  the  precious  gem  of  truth,  as  amongst  the  numberless  pebbles  of  the 
shore;  whereby  they  might  be  the  abler  to  discover,  and  avoid,  that  deceit- 
ful and  close-couched  evil  of  flattery,  that  ever  attends  them,  and  misleads 
them,  and  might  skilfully  know  how  to  apply  the  several  redresses  to  each 
malady  of  state,  without  trusting  the  disloyal  information  of  parasites  and 
sycophants;  whereas  now  this  permission  of  free  writing,  were  there  no 
good  else  in  it,  yet  at  some  time  thus  licensed,  is  such  an  unripping,  such 
an  anatomy  of  the  shyest  and  tenderest  particular  truths,  as  makes  not 
only  the  whole  nation  in  many  points  the  wiser,  but  also  presents  and  car- 


260  NOTES 

ries  home  to  princes,  men  most  remote  from  vulgar  concourse,  such  a  full 
insight  of  every  lurking  evil,  or  restrained  good  among  the  commons,  as 
that  they  shall  not  need  hereafter,  in  old  cloaks  and  false  beards,  to  stand 
to  the  courtesy  of  a  night-walking  cudgeller  for  eaves-dropping,  not  to 
accept  quietly  as  a  perfume,  the  overhead  emptying  of  some  salt  lotion. 
Who  could  be  angry,  therefore,  but  those  that  are  guilty,  with  these  free- 
spoken  and  plain-hearted  men,  that  are  the  eyes  of  their  country,  and  the 
prospective  glasses  of  their  prince?  But  these  are  the  nettlers,  these  are 
the  blabbing  books  that  tell,  though  not  half  your  fellows'  feats.  You  love 
toothless  satires;  let  me  inform  you,  a  toothless  satire  is  as  improper  as  a 
toothed  sleekstone,  and  as  bullish.' 

P.  73.     antistrophon :  reasoning  turned  upon  an  opponent. 

P.  73.  mime:  a  kind  of  buffoon  play,  in  which  real  persons  and 
events  were  ridiculously  mimicked  and  represented. 

P.  73.  Mundus  alter  et  idem  (another  world  and  the  same)  :  a  satire 
by  Bishop  Hall. 

P.  73.  Cephalus:  son  of  Mercury  (Hermes),  carried  off  by  Aurora 
(Eos). 

P.  73.  Hylas :  accompanied  Hercules  in  the  Argonautic  expedition. 
His  beauty  excited  the  love  of  the  Naiads,  as  he  went  to  draw  water  from 
a  fountain,  on  the  coast  of  Mysia,  and  he  was  drawn  by  them  into  the 
water,  and  never  again  seen. 

P.  73.      Viraginea  :  the  land  of  viragoes. 

P.  73.     Aphrodisia  :  the  land  of  Aphrodite  (Venus). 

P.  73.  Desvergonia  :  the  land  of  shamelessness.  Ital.  vergona,  shame, 
infamy. 

P.  73.     hearsay  :  the  hearing  of,  knowing  about. 

P.  73.     tire:  head-dress. 

P.  73.     those  in  next  aptitude  to  divinity  :  divinity  students. 

P.  73.  Trinculoes  :  Trinculo  is  the  name  of  a  jester  in  Shakespeare's 
1  Tempest ' ;  or,  according  to  a  note  in  Johnson's  '  Life  of  Milton,'  signed 
R.,  referred  to  by  J.  A.  St.  John,  'by  the  mention  of  this  name  he  evi- 
dently refers  to  "  Albemazor,"  acted  at  Cambridge  in  1614.' 

P.  73.     mademoiselles :  ladies'  maids. 

P.  73.  Atticism :  because  he  is  here  imitating  a  well-known  passage 
in  Demosthenes's  speech  against  yEschines.  —  Keightley. 

P.  74.    for  me  :  so  far  as  I'm  concerned. 

P.  74.  &ireipoKa\ia :  ignorance  of  the  beautiful,  want  of  taste  or  sen- 
sibility (Liddell  and  Scott). 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  26 1 

P.  75.  elegiac  poets,  whereof  the  schools  are  not  scarce  :  i.e.  they  are 
much  read  in  the  schools. 

P.  75.     numerous:  in  poetic  numbers;   'in  prose  or  numerous  verse.' 

P.  75.     For  that :  because.  — P.  L.,v.  150. 

P.  75.     severe,   serious. 

P.  76.  the  two  famous  renowners  of  Beatrice  and  Laura  :  Dante  and 
Petrarch. 

P.  76.  though  not  in  the  title-page :  an  allusion  to  his  opponent's  '  A 
Modest  Confutation.' 

P.  78.  Corinthian :  licentious,  Corinth  having  been  noted  for  its 
licentiousness. 

P.  78.  the  precepts  of  the  Christian  religion  :  J.  A.  St.  John  quotes 
from  Symmons's  '  Life  of  Milton ' :  '  It  was  at  this  early  period  of  his  life, 
as  we  may  confidently  conjecture,  that  he  imbibed  that  spirit  of  devotion 
which  actuated  his  bosom  to  his  latest  moment  upon  earth :  and  we  need 
not  extend  our  search  beyond  the  limits  of  his  own  house  for  the  fountain 
from  which  the  living  influence  was  derived.' 

P.  78.     had  been :  i.e.  might  have  been. 

P.  79.  sleekstone :  a  smoothing  stone;  a  toothed  sleekstone  would 
fail  of  its  purpose  as  much  as  a  toothless  satire. 

P.  79.  this  champion  from  behind  the  arras  :  probably  an  allusion  to 
Polonius,  who,  in  the  closet  scene  (A.  III.  S.  iv.),  conceals  himself  behind 
the  arras  to  overhear  the  interview  between  Hamlet  and  his  mother. 

P.  80.  Socrates  :  surnamed  Scholasticus ;  a  Greek  ecclesiastical  histo- 
rian; b.  about  379,  d.  after  440;  author  of  a  'History  of  the  Church  from 
306  to  439  A.D.' 

P.  81.  St.  Martin:  there  are  two  saints  of  the  name;  which  one  is 
alluded  to  is  uncertain,  but  probably  Bishop  of  Tours,  4th  century. 

P.  81.  Gregory  Nazianzen  :  a  Greek  father,  surnamed  the  Theologian; 
b.  about  328,  d.  389  a.d. 

P.  81.  Murena:  Roman  consul,  63  B.C.;  charged  with  bribery  by 
Servius  Sulpicius;  defended  by  Cicero,  in  his  oration  Pro  Murena.  In 
Cicero's  answer  to  Sulpicius,  '  three  months,'  as  given  by  Milton,  should  be 
'  three  days '  :  '  itaque,  si  mihi,  homini  vehementer  occupato,  stomachum 
moveritis,  triduo  me  jurisconsultum  esse  profitebor.' 

To  Carlo  Dati.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  11.) 

P.  83.     tomb  of  Damon  :  i.e.  of  Carolo  Diodati. 
P.  83.     that  poem  :  '  Epitaphium  Damonis.' 


262  NOTES 

On  his  Blindness 

P.  84.     1.  spent :  extinguished. 

P.  84.  2.  Ere  half  my  days  :  i.e.  are  spent;  Milton  was  about  forty- 
four  years  old  when  his  '  light '  was  fully  '  spent. ' 

P.  85.  8.  fondly  :  foolishly;  prevent ;  to  come  before,  anticipate,  fore- 
stall. 

P.  85.     12.  thousands:  i.e.  of ' spiritual  creatures.'    See  '  P.  L.,' iv.  677. 

P.  85.  14.  They  also  serve  :  i.e.  as  Verity  explains,  those  other  angels 
too,  who,  etc. 

To  Leonard  Philaras.     (Familiar  Letters,  No.  XII.) 
P.  85.    Angier   {Rene) :    resident   agent  in    Paris    for    the    English 
Parliament. 

To  Henry  Oldenburg.     (Familiar  Letters,  No.  XIV.) 

P.  87.  Henry  Oldenburg :  b.  at  Bremen  about  1615,  d.  1677; 
sent  in  1653  by  the  Council  of  Bremen  as  their  agent  to  negotiate  with 
Cromwell  some  arrangement  by  which  the  neutrality  of  Bremen  should  be 
respected  in  the  naval  war  between  England  and  Holland  ('Diet,  of 
National  Biography ') ;  became  a  member  and  secretary  of  the  Royal 
Society  of  London,  and  was  afterward  elected  a  fellow  of  the  Society; 
corresponded  extensively  with  the  philosopher,  Benedict  Spinosa;  pub- 
lished the  'Transactions'  of  the  Royal  Society  from  1664  to  1677. 

P.  87.  '  Cry '  of  that  kind  '  to  Heaven  '  /  the  reference  is  to  the  Regit 
Sanguinis  Clamor  ad  Ccelum,  adversus  Parricidas  Anglicanos  (The  Cry  of 
the  Royal  Blood  to  Heaven  against  the  English  Parricides). 

P.  87.     Morus :   Alexander  More,  whom    Milton  supposed  to  be  the 
author  of  •  The  Cry  of  the  Royal  Blood  to  Heaven.'    See  note,  p.  248. 
To  Leonard  Philaras.     (Familiar  Letters,  No.  XV.) 

P.  89.     Phineus:  see  note  on  •  P.  L.,'  iii.  36,  in  this  volume. 

P.  89.     Salmydessus  :  a  town  of  Thrace,  on  the  coast  of  the  Black  Sea. 

P.  89.  Argonautica  :  a  heroic  poem  on  the  Argonautic  expedition,  by 
Apollonius  Rhodius. 

P.  89.     Kdpos  d£  it.iv  dfKpeKdXmf/ev : 

1 A  darkling  maze  now  round  about  him  drew, 
The  earth  from  underneath  seemed  whirling  fast, 
l  In  languid  trance  he  lay  bereft  of  speech.' 

Prof.  Charles  E.  Bennett's  translation. 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  263 

P.  90.     the  Wise  Man  :  Ecclesiastes  xi.  8. 
P.  90.     Lynceus  :  the  keen-sighted  Argonaut. 

To  Cyriac  Skinner 

P.  91.  1.  this  three  years'  day  :  this  day  three  years  ago.  Milton  be- 
came completely  blind  in  1652,  so  this  sonnet  must  have  been  written  in 
1655.     though  dear  :  see  passage  from  Second  Defence,  p.  13. 

P.  91.     7.  bate:  from  '  abate.'  / 

P.  91.  8.  bear  up  and  steer  right  onward :  the  nautical  sense  of  ■  bear 
up,'  i.e.  to  put  the  ship  before  the  wind,  is  indicated  by  what  follows. 

P.  91.     10.  conscience:  consciousness. 

P.  91.  12.  talks  :  the  Trin.  Coll.  Ms.  reading;  the  word  'rings'  was 
substituted  by  Phillips  in  his  printed  copy  of  1694;  '  talks  '  does  not  sound 
so  well,  in  the  verse,  but  it  is  more  modest. 

P.  91.     13.  mask:  masquerade. 

On  his  deceased  wife 
P.  91.     1.  my  late  espoused  saint:  his  second  wife,  Catherine  Wood- 
cock, whom  he  married  November  12,  1656;   she  died  in  February,  1658. 

P.  91.  2.  Alceslis :  brought  back  to  life  by  Herakles  (Hercules). 
her  glad  husband:  Admetus,  King  of  Pherse  in  Thessaly.  See  Browning's 
1  Balaustion's  Adventure,  including  a  Transcript  from  [the  Alkestis  of] 
Euripides.' 

P.  91.     5.  as  whom  :  as  one  whom. 
P.  91.     6.  Purification:  Leviticus  xii. 

P.  91.     10.  her  face  was  veiled :  Alcestis  was  still  in  his  mind.      In 
Browning's  '  Balaustion's  Adventure,'  when  Hercules  returns  with  her : 
*  Under  the  great  guard  of  one  arm,  there  leant 
A  shrouded  something,  live  and  woman-like, 
Propped  by  the  heart-beats  'neath  the  lion  coat.  .  .  . 
There  is  no  telling  how  the  hero  twitched 
The  veil  off :  and  there  stood,  with  such  fixed  eyes 
And  such  slow  smile,  Alkestis'  silent  self ! ' 

To  Emeric  Bigot.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  XXI.) 
P.  92.     Emeric  Bigot:  a  French  scholar,  native  of  Rouen;    b.  1626, 

d.  1689. 

P.  92.     King  Telephus  of  the  Mysians  :  wounded  by  Achilles  and  by 

him  healed  with  the  rust  of  his  spear;   and  in  return  Telephus  directed  the 

Greeks  on  their  way  to  Troy. 


264 


NOTES 


Autobiographic  passages  in  the  Paradise  Lost 

P.  96.  2.  Or  of  the  Eternal:  or  may  I,  unblamed,  express  thee  as  the 
coeternal  beam  of  the  Eternal. 

P.  96.     6.  increate  ;  qualifies  '  bright  effluence.' 

P.  96.     7.    Or  hear  est  thou   rather:    or   approvest    thou   rather   the 
appellation  of  pure  ethereal  stream;   '  hearest '  is  a  classicism  :  '  Matutine 
pater,  seu  Jane  libentius  audis '  (father  of  the  morning,  or  if  Janus  thou 
hearest  more  willingly).  —  Horace,  Sat.  II.,  vi.  20,  cited  by  Bentley. 
P.  97.     13.  wing:  flight. 

P.  97.     17.    With  other  notes  :  Orpheus  made  a  hymn  to  Night,  which 
is  still  extant;   he  also  wrote  of  the  creation  out  of  Chaos.     See  '  Apoll. 
Rhodius,'  i.  493.     Orpheus  was  inspired   by   his   mother   Calliope    only, 
Milton  by  the  heavenly  Muse;  therefore  he  boasts  that  he  sung  with  other 
notes  than  Orpheus,  though  the  subjects  were  the  same.  — Richardson. 
P.  97.     21.  hard  and  rare;  evidently  after  Virgil's  ^Eneid,  vi.  1 26-129. 
P.  97.     25.  a  drop  serene :  gutta  serena,  i.e.  amaurosis. 
P.  97.     26.  dim  suffusion  :  cataract. 

P.  97.  34.  So ;  appears  to  be  used  optatively,  as  Lat.  sic,  Greek  &s, 
would  that  I  were  equalled  with  them  in  renown. 

P«  97-  35-  Thamyris:  a  Thracian  bard,  mentioned  by  Homer, 
Iliad,  ii.  595 : 

1  he,  over-bold, 
Boasted  himself  preeminent  in  song, 
Ev'n  though  the  daughters  of  Olympian  Jove, 
The  Muses,  were  his  rivals :  they  in  wrath, 
Him  of  his  sight  at  once  and  power  of  song 
Amerced,  and  bade  his  hand  forget  the  lyre.' 

—  Earl  of  Derby's  Translation,  692-697. 

P-  97-     35-  Mceonides :  a  patronymic  of  Homer. 

P.  97.  36.  Tiresias :  the  famous  blind  soothsayer  of  Thebes,  '  cui 
profundum  caecitas  lumen  dedit '  (to  whom  his  blindness  gave  deep  sight), 
says  Milton,  in  his  De  Idea  Platonica,  v.  25. 

P.  97.  36.  Phineus:  a  blind  soothsayer,  who,  according  to  some 
authorities,  was  king  of  Salmydessus,  in  Thrace.  By  reason  of  his  cruelty 
to  his  sons,  who  had  been  falsely  accused,  he  was  tormented  by  the  Har- 
pies, until  delivered  from  them  by  the  Argonauts,  in  return  for  prophetic 
information  in  regard  to  their  voyage. 

P-  97*     39-  darkling:  in  the  dark. 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  265 

P.  97.  42.  Day :  note  the  emphasis  imparted  to  this  initial  monosyl- 
labic word,  which  receives  the  ictus  and  is  followed  by  a  pause;  Milton 
felt  that  the  loss  of  sight  was  fully  compensated  for  by  an  inward  celestial 
light. 

P.  98.  1.  Urania :  the  Heavenly  Muse  invoked  in  the  opening  of 
the  poem. 

P.  98.  4.  Pegasean  wing :  above  the  flight  of  'the  poet's  winged 
steed '  of  classical  mythology. 

P.  98.  5.  the  meaning,  not  the  name :  Urania  was  the  name  of  one 
of  the  Grecian  Muses;  he  invokes  not  her,  but  what  her  name  signifies, 
the  Heavenly  one.     See  w.  38,  39. 

P.  98.     8.  Before  the  hills  appeared :  Prov.  viii.  23-31. 

P.  98.  10.  didst  play  :  the  King  James's  version,  Prov.  viii.  30,  reads, 
1  rejoicing  always  before  him ';  the  Vulgate,  Hudens  coram  eo  omni  tempore.' 

P.  98.  15.  thy  tempering :  the  empyreal  air  was  tempered  for,  adapted 
to,  his  breathing,  as  a  mortal,  by  the  Heavenly  Muse. 

P.  98.  17.  this  flying  steed:  i.e.  this  higher  poetic  inspiration  than 
that  represented  by  the  classical  Pegasus;   unreined:  unbridled,  infrenis. 

P.  98.  18.  Bellerophon :  thrown  from  Pegasus  when  attempting  to 
soar  upon  the  winged  horse  to  heaven. 

P.  99.  19.  Aleian  field :  in  Asia  Minor,  where  Bellerophon,  after  he 
was  thrown  from  Pegasus,  wandered  and  perished;  ireSiov  to  'AKrj'iov, 
Iliad,  vi.  201,  land  of  wandering  (&\y). 

P.  99.  20.  erroneous  there  to  wander :  to  wander  without  knowing 
whither;   Lat.  erroneus ;  forlorn:  entirely  lost;   'for'  is  intensive. 

P.  99.  21.  Half  yet  remains  unsung:  'half  of  the  episode,  not 
of  the  whole  work,  .  .  .  the  episode  has  two  principal  parts,  the  war 
in  heaven,  and  the  new  creation;  the  one  was  sung,  but  the  other  re- 
mained unsung,  .  .  .  but  narrower  bound,  .  .  .  this  other  half  is  not  rapt 
so  much  into  the  invisible  world  as  the  former,  it  is  confined  in  narrower 
compass,  and  bound  within  the  visible  sphere  of  day.' — Newton. 

narrower :  more  narrowly. 

P.  99.  26.  on  evil  days  though  fallen  :  a  pathetic  emotional  repeti- 
tion; note  the  artistic  change  in  the  order  of  the  words.  Macaulay  justly 
characterizes  the  thirty  years  which  succeeded  the  protectorate  as  '  the 
darkest  and  most  disgraceful  in  the  English  annals.  .  .  .  Then  came 
those  days  never  to  be  recalled  without  a  blush  —  the  days  of  servitude 
without  loyalty,  and  sensuality  without  love,  of  dwarfish  talents  and  gigan- 
tic vices,  the  paradise  of  cold  hearts  and  narrow  minds,  the  golden  age  of 


266  NOTES 

the  coward,  the  bigot,  and  the  slave.  The  king  cringed  to  his  rival 
[Louis  XIV.]  that  he  might  trample  on  his  people,  sunk  into  a  viceroy  of 
France,  and  pocketed,  with  complacent  infamy,  her  degrading  insults  and 
her  more  degrading  gold.  The  caresses  of  harlots,  and  the  jests  of  buf- 
foons regulated  the  measures  of  a  government  which  had  just  ability 
enough  to  deceive,  and  just  religion  enough  to  persecute.  The  principles 
of  liberty  were  the  scoff  of  every  grinning  courtier,  and  the  Anathema 
Maranatha  of  every  fawning  dean.  .  .  .  Crime  succeeded  to  crime,  and 
disgrace  to  disgrace,  till  the  race,  accursed  of  God  and  man,  was  a  second 
time  driven  forth,  to  wander  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  to  be  a  by-word 
and  a  shaking  of  the  head  to  the  nations.' 

P-  99-  33-  Bacchus  and  his  revellers  :  Charles  II.  and  his  Court,  from 
whom  Milton  had  reason  to  fear  a  similar  fate  to  that  of  the  Thracian 
bard,  Orpheus,  who  was  torn  to  pieces  by  the  Bacchanalian  women  of 
Rhodope. 

P>  99-  38.  so  fail  not  thou :  i.e.  to  defend  me  as  the  Muse  Calliope 
failed  to  defend  her  son,  Orpheus. 

P.  99.     1.  no  more  of  talk  :  i.e.  as  in  the  foregoing  episode. 

P.  99.     5.  venial :  allowable,  fitting. 

P.  100.  14-19.  the  wrath  of  stern  Achilles  .  .  .  Cythered's  son :  these 
are  not  the  arguments  (subjects)  proper  of  the  three  epics,  the  Iliad, 
the  Odyssey,  and  the  /Eneid;  as  Newton  pointed  out,  the  poet  men- 
tions certain  angers  or  enmities,  the  wrath  of  Achilles,  the  rage  of  Turnus, 
Neptune's  and  Juno's  ire;  'the  anger,  etc.  (v.  10)  of  Heaven  which  he 
is  about  to  sing  is  an  argument  more  heroic,  not  only  than  the  anger  of 
men,  of  Achilles  and  Turnus,  but  than  that  even  of  the  gods,  of  Neptune 
and  Juno  ; '  his  foe :  Hector  ;  Turnus  :  king  of  the  Rutuli  when  iEneas 
arrived  in  Italy;  Lavinia  :  daughter  of  King  Latinus,  betrothed  to  Turnus, 
but  afterward  given  in  marriage  to  JEne&s;  the  Greek:  Ulysses;  Cythered's 
son :  ^Eneas ;  Cytherea,  a  surname  of  Venus,  from  the  island  Cythera, 
famous  for  her  worship. 

P.  100.  19.  Perplexed  the  Greek  :  a  respective  construction, '  perplexed 
the  Greek '  looks  back  to  •  Neptune's  ire,'  '  Cytherea's  son,'  to  Juno's  ire. 
Bentley's  note  is  remarkable :  'Juno's  that  long  perplexed  the  Greek  : 
when,  contrary,  the  Greek  was  her  favourite  all  along.' 

P.  100.     20.  answerable :  corresponding  to  the  high  argument. 

P.  100.     21.   my  celestial  Patroness  :  Urania,  the  Heavenly  Muse. 

P.  100.  23.  inspires  :  Milton  regarded  himself  as  inspired  by  the  Holy 
Spirit  in  the  composition  of  '  Paradise  Lost.' 


MILTON'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  267 

P.  100.  25.  Since  first  this  subject :  Milton,  as  has  been  seen,  had 
meditated,  as  early  as  1638,  an  epic  poem  to  be  based  on  legendary  British 
history,  with  King  Arthur  for  its  hero,  a  subject  which  it  appears  he  aban- 
doned in  the  course  of  two  or  three  years.  While  still  undecided,  he 
jotted  down  ninety-nine  different  subjects,  sixty-one  Scriptural,  thirty-eight 
from  British  history.  Among  the  former,  '  Paradise  Lost '  appears  first  of 
all.  These  jottings  occupy  seven  pages  of  the  Cambridge  Mss.  It  is  evi- 
dent that  by  1640,  Milton  was  quite  decided  as  to  the  subject  of  '  Paradise 
Lost,'  but  not  as  to  the  form  of  his  work.  It  was  first  as  a  tragedy  that  he 
conceived  it,  on  the  model  of  the  Grecian  drama  with  choruses.  His 
nephew,  Edward  Phillips,  informs  us  that  several  years  before  the  poem 
was  begun  (about  1642,  according  to  Aubrey),  Satan's  address  to  the  sun 
(Book  iv.  32-41)  was  shown  him  as  designed  for  the  beginning  of  the 
tragedy.  The  composition  of  the  poem  was  begun,  according  to  Phillips, 
about  1658,  the  poet  being  then  fifty  years  of  age.  The  student  should 
read,  in  connection  with  this  subject,  the  thirteenth  chapter  of  Mark 
Pattison's  '  Life  of  Milton.' 

P.  100.  35.  Impresses:  'devices  or  emblems  used  on  shields  or  other- 
wise.' Keightley  alludes  to  the  enumeration  of  the  devices  of  the  nobles 
of  England,  in  the  tenth  Canto  of  the  '  Orlando  Furioso.' 

P.  100.  36.  bases :  *  the  base  was  a  skirt  or  kilt  which  hung  down 
from  the  waist  to  the  knees  of  the  knight  when  on  horseback.' 

P.  100.  37.  ?narshalled 'feast :  *  from  Minshew's  "  Guide  into  Tongues," 
it  appears  that  the  marshal  placed  the  guests  according  to  their  rank,  and 
saw  that  they  were  properly  served;  the  sewer  marched  in  before  the 
meats  and  arranged  them  on  the  table,  and  was  originally  called  Asseour 
from  the  French  asseoir,  to  set  down,  or  place;  and  the  Seneshal  was  the 
household-steward.'  —  Todd. 

P.  100.     41.  Me  .  .  .  higher  argument  remains  :  i.e.  for  me. 

P.  101.  44.  an  age  too  late:  Milton  might  well  feel,  in  the  reign  of 
the  '  merry  monarch,'  that  he  was  treating  his  high  argument  in  an  age 
too  late. 

P.  101.  45,46.  my  intended  wing  depressed:  'wing'  is  used,  by 
metonymy,  for  '  flight.'  Keightley  incorrectly  puts  a  comma  after  '  wing,' 
'  intended  wing  depressed '  being  a  case  of  the  placing  of  a  noun  between 
two  epithets,  Usual  with  Milton,  the  epithet  following  the  noun  qualifying 
the  noun  as  qualified  by  the  preceding  epithet.  Rev.  James  Robert  Boyd, 
in  his  edition  of  the  '  P.  L.,'  explains  '  intended,'  '  stretched  out ';  but  the 
word  is  undoubtedly  used  in  its  present  sense  of  '  purposed.' 


268  NOTES 

Letter  to  Peter  Heimbach.     {Familiar  Letters,  No.  XXXI.) 

P.  102.  a  country  retreat:  'a  pretty  box,'  secured  for  him  by  his 
Quaker  friend,  Elwood,  at  Chalfont  St.  Giles;  the  house  still  exists,  having 
undergone  little  or  no  change. 

I  hardly  like  to  express  in  the  text  a  fancy  that  has  occurred  to  me 
in  translating  the  letter  and  studying  it  in  connection  with  Heimbach's, 
to  wit,  that  Milton  may  not  merely  have  been  ironically  rebuking  Heim- 
bach for  his  adulation  and  silly  phraseology,  but  may  also  have  been  sus- 
picious of  the  possibility  of  some  trap  laid  for  him  politically.  Certainly, 
if  this  letter  of  Milton's  to  a  Councillor  of  the  Elector  of  Brandenburg  had 
been  intercepted  by  the  English  government,  it  is  so  cleverly  worded  that 
nothing  could  have  been  made  of  it.  But  Heimbach  may  have  been  as 
honest  as  he  looks.  Even  then,  however,  Milton,  knowing  little  or  noth- 
ing of  Heimbach  for  the  last  nine  years,  had  reason  to  be  cautious. 
—  Masson. 


Passages  in  which  MiltorCs  Idea  of  True  Liberty  is 
Set  Forth 

P.  104.  Deep  versed  in  books  :  Milton  would,  I  conceive,  have  thus 
characterized  his  old  antagonist,  Salmasius.  —  Dunster. 

P.  104.     trifles  for  choice  matters :  as  choice  matters. 

P.  104.  worth  a  spunge :  deserving  to  be  wiped  out.  So  in  his '  Areopa- 
gitica ' :  '  sometimes  five  imprimaturs  are  seen  together,  dialogue-wise,  in 
the  piazza  of  one  title-page,  complimenting  and  ducking  each  to  other 
with  their  shaven  reverences,  whether  the  author,  who  stands  by  in  per- 
plexity at  the  foot  of  his  epistle,  shall  to  the  press  or  to  the  spunge.' 

P.  in.     Uzza  :  see  2  Sam.  vi.  3-8. 

P.  112.      Whom  do  we  count  a  good  man  : 

*  Vir  bonus  est  quis?  — 
Qui  consulta  patrum,  qui  leges  juraque  servat; 
Quo  multse  magnseque  secantur  judice  lites; 
Quo  res  sponsore,  et  quo  causae  teste  tenentur. 
Sed  videt  hunc  omnis  domus  et  vicinia  tota 
Introrsiis  turpem,  speciosum  pelle  decoraV 

—  Epistolai-um  Liber,  i.  16,  vv.  40-45,  Ad  Quinctium. 


MILTON'S  IDEA    OF  TRUE  LIBERTY  269 

P.  118.  Crescentius  Nomentanus  :  Roman  patrician,  a  native  of  No- 
mentum  (now  La  Mentana),  tenth  century,  was  at  the  head  of  the  Italian 
party  against  the  Germans  and  the  popes,  with  title  of  Consul;  was  be- 
sieged in  the  Castle  St.  Angelo,  and  finally  capitulated  on  terms  honorable 
to  himself,  but  was  basely  put  to  death  by  Otho  III.,  a.d.  998. 

F.  118.  AHcholas  Reniius :  Rienzi,  or  Rienzo  (Niccolo  Gabrini),  or 
Cola  di  Rienzi,  *  the  last  of  the  Roman  Tribunes,'   b.    about    1313,   d. 

1354. 

*  Then  turn  we  to  her  latest  tribune's  name, 
From  her  ten  thousand  tyrants  turn  to  thee, 
Redeemer  of  dark  centuries  of  shame  —    . 
The  friend  of  Petrarch  —  hope  of  Italy  — 
Rienzi !  last  of  Romans  !  while  the  tree 
Of  Freedom's  withered  trunk  puts  forth  a  leaf, 
Even  for  thy  tomb  a  garland  let  it  be  — 
The  forum's  champion,  and  the  people's  chief — 
Her  new-born  Numa  thou  —  with  reign,  alas  !  too  brief.' 

—  Byron's  Childe  Harold,  Canto  iv.  St.  cxiv. 

P.  120.     the  resentment  of  Achilles  :  the  subject  of  the  Iliad. 

P.  120.     the  return  of  Ulysses :  the  subject  of  the  Odyssey. 

P.  120.     the  coming  of  JEneas  into  Italy  :  the  subject  of  the  ^neid. 

P.  121.  As  when  those  hinds:  he  compares  the  reception  given  it 
[the  doctrine  of  his  Divorce  pamphlets]  to  the  treatment  of  the  goddess 
Latona  and  her  newly  born  twins  by  the  Lycian  rustics.  These  twins 
afterward  'held  the  sun  and  moon  in  fee'  {i.e.  in  full  possession),  for 
they  were  Apollo  and  Diana;  and  yet,  when  the  goddess,  carrying  them 
in  her  arms,  and  fleeing  from  the  wrath  of  Juno,  stooped  in  her  fatigue  to 
drink  of  the  water  of  a  small  lake,  the  rustics  railed  at  her  and  puddled  the 
lake  with  their  hands  and  feet;  for  which,  on  the  instant,  at  the  god- 
dess's prayer,  they  were  turned  into  frogs,  to  live  forever  in  the  mud  of 
their  own  making  (Ovid,  Met.,\'\.  335-381).'  —  Masson.  Wordsworth 
uses  the  phrase,  '  in  fee,'  in  the  same  way  in  the  opening  verse  of  his 
sonnet  on  the  '  Extinction  of  the  Venetian  Republic ' :  '  Once  did  She  hold 
the  gorgeous  east  in  fee.' 

P.  121.     lapse:  fall. 

P.  121.     twinned :  as  a  twin. 

P.  121.     dividual :  separate. 

P.  121.     undeservedly :  without  right  or  merit;  no  thanks  to  them. 


270 


NOTES 


P.  121.  virtue,  which  is  reason  :  '  Virtus  est  recta  ratio,  et  animi  habitus, 
naturae  modo,  rationi  consentaneus.'  —  Cicero. 

P.  123.     424.  his  son  Herod:  king  of  Judea  when  Christ  was  born. 

P.  123.  439.  Gideon,  and  Jephtha ;  see  Judges  vi.-viii.  and  xi.,  xii. ; 
the  shepherd-lad :  David;   see  the  Books  of  Samuel. 

P.  123.  446.  Quintius:  QuintiusCincinnatus:  Fabricius:  the  patriotic 
Roman  who  was  proof  against  the  bribes  of  Pyrrhus;  Curius:  Curius 
Dentatus :  who  would  accept  no  public  rewards ;  Kegulus  :  after  dissuad- 
ing the  Romans  from  making  peace  with  the  Carthaginians,  returned  to 
Carthage,  knowing  the  consequences  he  would  suffer. 

Comus 

P.  129.  4.  With  Midas'  ears  :  i.e.  with  the  ears  of  an  ass;  committing : 
bringing  together,  setting  at  variance  (Lat.  committer i).  Martial  says, 
'  Cum  Juvenale  meo  cur  me  committere  tentas?'  i.e. '  why  try  to  match  me 
with  my  Juvenal,'  i.e.  in  a  poetical  contest  with  him. 

P.  129.     5.   exempts:  separates,  distinguishes;    the  compound  subject 

•  worth  and  skill '  is  logically  singular,  and  takes  a  singular  verb. 

P.  1 29.  11.  story :  *  the  story  of  Ariadne,  set  by  him  to  music,'  as  ex- 
plained in  a  note  in  '  Choice  Psalms,'  1648. 

P.  129.  13.  Casella  :  *  a  Florentine  musician  and  friend  of  Dante,  who 
here  ['  Purgatorio,'  ii.  91  et  sea.']  speaks  to  him  with  so  much  tenderness 
and  affection  as  to  make  us  regret  that  nothing  more  is  known  of  him.  — 
Longfellow's  note. 

milder  shades :  i.e.  than  those  of  the  Inferno  which  Dante  has  just  left. 

3.  insphered :  in  their  several  spheres. 

7.  pestered :  here,  as  indicated  by  ■  pinfold,'  the  word  means '  clogged  '; 

•  pester '  is  a  shortened  form  of  '  impester.'     Fr.  empetrer  (OF.  empestrer) 

•  signifies  properly  to  hobble  a  horse  while  he  feeds  afield.  Mid.  Lat. 
pastorium,  a  clog  for  horses  at  pasture.'  —  Bracket's  Etymol.  Diet,  of  the 
French  Language,  s.v.  depetrer. 

10.  After  this  mortal  change :  *  mortal '  I  understand  to  be  used  here  as 
a  noun,  the  subject  of '  change,'  a  verb  in  the  subjunctive;  there  is  evi- 
dently an  allusion  to  1  Cor.  xv.  52-54,  in  which  occur  the  expressions, 
1  we  shall  be  changed '  and  •  this  mortal  must  put  on  immortality.' 

16.  ambrosial  weeds :  immortal  or  heavenly  garments,  i.e.  garments 
worn  by  an  immortal.  Gk.  'A/A&pSatos,  lengthened  form  of  &n&poros,  im- 
mortal.    See  v.  83. 


COM  US  2J\ 

20.  high  and  nether  Jove  :  by  metonymy  for  the  realms  of  Jove  and  Pluto. 
23.  unadorned :  i.e.  but  for  'the  sea-girt  isles.' 
25.  several:  separate;   by  course ;  in  due  order. 

29.  quarters  :   not  literally,  but  simply,  divides,  distributes. 

30.  this  tract  that  fronts  the  falling  sun  :  Wales. 

31.  a  noble  Peer:  the  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  Lord  President  of  Wales, 
before  whom  '  Comus '  was  presented  at  Ludlow  Castle,  1634. 

32.  tempered  awe  :  i.e.  tempered  with  mercy;  'mercy  seasons  justice.' 
34.  nursed  in  princely  lore :  nurtured  in  high  learning. 

38.  horror  :  ruggedness,  shagginess.  See  v.  429.  ...  '  densis  hastilibus 
horrida  myrtus.'  —  Virgil's  j£neid,  iii.  23.     brows  :  overarching  branches. 

39.  forlorn  and  wandering :  entirely  lost  and,  consequently,  straying 
at  random. 

48.  After  the  Tuscan  mariners  transformed:  a  Latinism;  so,  'since 
created  man.'  —  P.  L.,  i.  573.  The  allusion  is  to  the  story  of  the  Etruscan 
or  Tyrrhenian  pirates,  who  attempted  to  carry  off  Bacchus,  sell  him  as  a 
slave,  and  were  by  him  changed  into  dolphins.  —  Ovid,  Met.,  660  et  seq. 

49.  listed:  pleased. 

50.  On  .  .  .  fell :  happened  upon. 

59.  of:  from,  by  reason  of. 

60.  Celtic  and  Iberian  fields  :  France  and  Spain. 

61.  ominous:  portentous. 

65.  orient :  bright.  The  word  was  used  independently  of  the  idea  of 
'  eastern.'  In  the  ode  '  On  the  Nativity,'  v.  231,  the  setting  sun  'pillows 
his  chin  upon  an  orient  wave.'  Fuller,  in  his  '  Holy  War,'  Book  ii.  Chap.  I., 
says  of  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  '  His  soul  was  enriched  with  many  virtues, 
but  the  most  orient  of  all  was  his  humility,  which  took  all  men's  affections 
without  resistance.' 

66.  the  drouth  of  Phoebus:  the  thirst  caused  by  the  sun's  heat. 

67.  fond :  foolish. 

88.  nor  of  less  faith  :  i.e.  than  of  musical  power;  'faith'  means  the 
fidelity  of  his  service. 

90.  Likeliest:  the  best  suited  for  impersonation  by  the  Attendant  Spirit, 
by  reason  of  his  office  of  mountain  watch  over  the  flocks.  He  would  there- 
fore be  supposed  to  be  near  at  hand  if  aid  were  needed. 

92.  viewless:  invisible. 

93.  The  star  that  bids  the  shepherd  fold :  the  evening  star  cannot  be  said 
to  hold  the  top  of  heaven,  i.e.  be  in  the  meridian;  any  star,  the  earliest 
to  appear,  must  be  meant. 


272 


NOTES 


101.  his  chamber  in  the  east:  an  allusion  to  Psalm  xix.  5. 
1 10.  saws :  sayings,  maxims;  '  grave  '  is  used  contemptuously  by  Comus. 
116.  to  the   moon   in  wavering  morrice  move:   the  sounds   and   seas 
beneath  the  moon  reflect  dancing  lights  ;    '  morrice,'   a  rapid   Moorish 
dance,  once  common  in  England. 

129.  Cotytto :  the  goddess  of  shameless  and  licentious  orgies.  Her 
priests  were  called  Baptce. 

'  involved  in  thickest  gloom, 
Cotytto's  priests  her  secret  torch  illume  ; 
And  to  such  orgies  give  the  lustful  night, 
That  e'en  Cotytto  sickens  at  the  sight.' 

—  Gifford's  translation  of  Juvenal,  ii.  91,  92. 
132.  spets  :  spits. 

135.  Hecate,  goddess  of  sorcery  and  magic  and  'of  all  kinds  of 
nocturnal  ghastliness,  such  as  spectral  sights,  the  howlings  of  dogs, 
haunted  spots,  the  graves  of  the  murdered,  witches  at  their  incantations ' 
(Masson).  King  Lear  (I.  i.  112)  swears  by  •  the  mysteries  of  Hecate  and 
the  night.' 

139.  nice:  fastidious,  over-scrupulous  ;  used  contemptuously  by  Comus. 
141.  descry:  reveal. 

144.  round:  a  circular  dance;  in  '  L' Allegro,'  34,  we  have  'the  light 
fantastic  toe.' 

151.  trains:  enticements,  allurements. 

154.  spungy  air  :  which  absorbs  his  '  dazzling  spells.' 

155.  blear:  dim,  deceiving. 

156.  false  presentments :   representations  which  deceive  the  eye. 

157.  quaint  habits  :  strange  garments. 

165.  virtue  :  peculiar  power.     See  v.  621;  'II  Pens.,'  113. 

167.  country  gear :  rural  affairs. 

168.  fairly  ;  softly. 

J75-  granges :  used  in  its  original  sense  — barns.     (Fr.  grange.) 

178.  swilled:    drunken. 

180.  inform  my  unacquainted  feet :  where  else  shall  I  learn  my  way 
than  from  these  revellers. 

203.  perfect :  perfectly  distinct,  sure,  certain,  unmistakable.  There  is 
a  similar  use  of  the  word  in  Shakespeare  :  'Thou  art  perfect,  then,  our 
ship  hath  touched  upon  the  deserts  of  Bohemia  ? '  —  Winter's  Tale,  III. 
iii.  1 ;  '  I  am  perfect  that  the  Pannonians  and  Dalmatians  for  their  liberties 
are  now  in  arms.'—  Cymb.,  III.  i.    73;    'What  hast  thou  done  ?     I  am 


COM  US  273 

perfect  what '  (I  know  full  well,  I  am  fully  aware.'     Schmidt).  —  Cymb., 
IV.  ii.  118. 

204.  single  darkness  :   pure  darkness,  only  that  and  nothing  more. 

210.  may  startle  well :  i.e.  may  well  (or  indeed)  startle. 

212.  strong-siding :  strongly  supporting. 

215.  Chastity :  significantly  substituted  for  Charity,  as  the  compan- 
ion virtue  of  Faith  and  Hope,  it  being  the  theme,  the  central  idea  of  the 
poem,  to  which  an  explicit  expression  is  given  in  the  Elder  Brother's 
speech,  vv.  418-475,  and  in  the  speech  of  the  Lady  to  Comus,  780-799. 

231.  airy  shell:  the  dome  of  the  sky;  'cell'  is  in  the  margin  of 
Milton's  Ms. 

248.  his :    (old  neuter  genitive)  its,  referring  to  ■  something.' 

251.  fall:   cadence. 

251,  252.  smoothing  .  .  .  till  it  smiled:  Dr.  Symmons,  in  his  '  Life  of 
Milton,'  remarks  :  '  Darkness  may  aptly  be  represented  by  the  blackness 
of  the  raven  ;  and  the  stillness  of  that  darkness  may  be  paralleled  by  an 
image  borrowed  from  the  object  of  another  sense  —  by  the  softness  of 
down  ;  but  it  is  surely  a  transgression  which  stands  in  need  of  pardon 
when,  proceeding  a  step  further  and  accumulating  personifications,  we 
invest  this  raven-down  with  life  and  make  it  smile.'  The  metaphorical 
use  of  '  smile  '  or  '  laugh,'  applied  to  inanimate  things  that  are  smooth, 
shining,  glossy,  bright  in  colour,  and  the  like,  is,  perhaps,  common  in  all 
literatures.  The  Latin  '  rideo  '  and  the  Greek  yeXdw  are  frequently  so  used  ; 
e.g.  '  florumque  coloribus  almus  ridet  ager '  (and  the  bounteous  field 
laughs  with  the  colours  of  its  flowers) . —  Ovid,  Met.,  xv.  205 ;  '  Domus  ridet 
argento'  (the  house  smiles  with  glittering  silver). —  Horace,  Odes,  IV. 
xi.  6;  '  Ille  terrarum  mihi  praeter  omnes  angulus  ridet '  (that  corner  of  the 
earth  smiles  for  me  above  all  others).  —  Horace,  Odes,  II.  vi.  14. 

262.  home-felt  delight :  i.e.  delight  that  keeps  one  at  home  with  himself, 
does  not  carry  him  out  of  himself;  in  contrast  with  the, singing  of  Circe  and 
the  Sirens  three,  which  '  in  sweet  madness  robbed  it  (the  sense)  of  itself? 

267.  unless  the  goddess  :  i.e.  unless  (thou  be)  the  goddess  ;  '  dwell'st ' 
should  properly  be  '  dwells,'  the  antecedent  of  the  relative  •  that ' 
being  '  goddess,'  third  person,  not  '  thou '  in  the  ellipsis. 

273.  extreme  shift :    last  resort  ;    Fr.  dernier  ressort. 

279.  near  ushering :  attending  near  at  hand. 

285.  forestalling  night:   preventing,   or  hindering,  night  came  before 
them  ;    '  forestall '  has  here  the  present  sense  of  '  prevent,'  and  '  prevent ' 
its  old,  literal  sense  of  come  before. 
T 


274  NOTES 

287.  imports  their  loss :  does  their  loss  signify  other  than  your  present 
need  of  them  ? 

290.  Hebe :  the  goddess  of  youth  ;  cupbearer  to  the  gods  before 
Ganymedes. 

293.  Swinked :  hard- worked.  Spenser  frequently  uses  the  verb 
1  swink,'  and  several  times  in  connection  with  '  sweat '  ;  severe  toil  is 
always  implied  in  his  use  of  the  word  :  *  For  which  men  swinck  and  sweat 
incessantly.'  —  F.  Q.,  2.  7,  8  ;  '  And  every  one  did  swincke,  and  every  one 
did  sweat.  —  2.7,36;  'For  which  he  long  in  vaine  did  sweate  and 
swinke,'  6.  4,  32  ;  *  Of  mortal  men,  that  swincke  and  sweate  for  nought.' 
—  The  Sheapherd's  Calender,  November,  154  ;  '  For  they  doo  swinke 
and  sweate  to  feed  the  other.'  — Mother  Hubbard 's  Tale,  163. 

301.  plighted :    folded,  involved. 

313.  bosky  bourn:  Masson  explains  'shrubby  boundary  or  water- 
course.' Warton's  explanation  seems  better  supported  by  the  context  :  •  A 
bourn  .  .  .  properly  signifies  here,  a  winding,  deep,  and  narrow  valley, 
with  a  rivulet  at  the  bottom.  In  the  present  instance,  the  declivities  are 
interspersed  with  trees  and  bushes.  This  sort  of  valley  Comus  knew  from 
side  to  side.  He  knew  both  the  opposite  sides  or  ridges,  and  had  conse- 
quently traversed  the  intermediate  space.' 

315.   attendance:   attendants. 

329.  square  :  adapt. 

332.  wont' 'si :  art  accustomed;  benison  :  blessing. 

333.  stoop :  the  same  idea,  or  impression,  rather,  in  regard  to  the 
moon,  is  expressed  in  '  II  Penseroso,'  72 : 

'  And  oft,  as  if  her  head  she  bowed, 
Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud.' 

'  And  those  thin  clouds  above,  in  flakes  and  bars, 
That  give  away  their  motion  to  the  stars.' 

—  Coleridge 's  Dejection  :  an  Ode. 

336.  influence :  (astrological)  the  effect  flowing  in,  or  upon,  from 
the  stars.  See  'P.  L.,'  vii.  375,  viii.  513,  ix.  107,  x.  662;  'L'Al.,'  122; 
'Od.  Nat.,'  71. 

340.  rule :  long  horizontal  beam  of  light. 

341.  Star  of  Arcady :  the  constellation  of  the  Greater  Bear,  by  which, 
or  by  some  star  in  which,  the  Greek  mariner  steered  his  course. 


COM  US  275 

342.  Tyrian  Cynosure :  the  constellation  of  the  Lesser  Bear,  or  the 
pole  star  therein,  by  which  the  Phoenician  (Tyrian)  mariner  steered. 

344.  wattled  cotes :  sheep-pens  made  of  interwoven  twigs. 

349.  innumerous :  innumerable. 

355.  leans:  subject  'she'  implied  in  'her,'  above.  See  note  on  'Sam- 
son Agonistes',  1671;  some  editors  make  'head'  the  subject. 

358.  heat:  lust. 

359.  exquisite:  used  literally:  outsearching;  'consider  not  too 
curiously.' 

366.  so  to  seek  :  so  wanting,  so  much  at  a  loss. 

367.  unprincipled ' :  ignorant  of  the  elements,  or  first  principles. 

369.  noise:  not  to  be  connected  with  'single  want  of;   the  meaning 
is,  mere  darkness  and  noise. 
373.  would :  might  wish. 

375.  flat  sea  :  in  '  Lycidas,'  98,  *  level  brine.' 

376.  oft  seeks  to  :  oft  resorts  to. 

380.  all  to-ruffled:  all  ruffled  up;  the  prefix  'to-'  is  an  old  inten- 
sive, with  force  of  Ger.  'zer-';  generally  imparts  the  idea  of  destruction: 
'all  to-brake,'  broke  all  in  pieces;   'all  to-rent,'  tore  all  in  pieces. 

382.  centre :  as  in  Shakespeare,  centre  of  the  earth. 

386.  affects:  likes,  entirely  without  any  of  its  present  meaning  of 
making  a  show  of. 

390.  weeds:  garments. 

391.  maple:  maple-wood. 

393.  Hesperian  tree :  the  tree  in  the  Hesperian  gardens  which  bore 
golden  apples  and  was  guarded  by  the  sleepless  dragon  Ladon,  which  was 
slain  by  Hercules. 

395.  unenchanted :  not  to  be  enchanted,  or  wrought  upon  by  magical 
spells. 

401.  wink  on  :  not  take  notice  or  advantage  of. 

402.  single :  solitary,  alone. 

404.  it  recks  me  not :  I  take  no  account  of,  care  not  for. 

405.  events  :  outcomes,  consequences. 
407.  unowned :  without  a  protector. 

409.  without  all  doubt :  i.e.  without  any  doubt;   a  Latinism. 
413.  squint :  'looking  askance.'     Spenser  represents  Suspect  (' F.  Q.,' 
3.  12,  15)  as 

*  ill  favoured,  and  grim, 
Under  his  eiebrowes  looking  still  askaunce.' 


2?6 


NOTES 


419.  if:  even  if  Heaven  did  give  it. 

423.  unharboured :  without  harbor,  or  shelter. 

424.  infdmous :  of  bad  reputation. 

430.  unblenched :  fearless,  self-sustained. 

432.  some  say  :  reminds,  as  has  been  often  noted,  of  the  passage  in 
1  Hamlet ' :  '  some  say  that  ever  'gainst  that  season  comes,'  etc.  —  I.  i.  158. 
455.  lackey  :  attend,  or  wait  upon,  as  guardians. 
474.  and  linked  itself:  and  as  if  it  were  itself  linked. 

494.  artful :  artistic,  skilful. 

495.  huddling:  hurrying;  Verity  understands  'huddling'  as  the  result 
of  'delayed.' 

501.  next  joy:   Thyrsis   addresses  the  elder   brother   as  his  master's 
heir,  and  then  the  second  brother  as  '  his  next  joy,'  i.e.  object  of  his  joy. 
503.  stealth  :  the  thing  stolen. 

509.  sadly:  seriously;   without  blame :  i.e.  on  our  part. 
515,  516.  what  the  sage  poets  .  .   .  storied:  made  the  theme  of  story: 

Tells  him  of  trophies,  statues,  tombs,  and  stories 
His  victories,  his  triumphs,  and  his  glories. 

—  Shakespeare's  V.  and  A.,  1013,  14. 
520.  navel:  centre. 

526.  murmurs:  muttered  spells,  or  incantations. 
529.  mintage:  coinage. 

533.  monstrous  rout:  rout  of  monsters;  so,  'monstrous  world,'  world 
of  monsters. —  Lycidas,  158. 

539.  unweeting:  not  knowing. 

540.  by  then  :  by  the  time  that. 

547.  meditate:  practice;   see  '  Lycidas,' 66. 

548.  had :  subj.,  should  have  ;   close :  i.e.  of  his  'rural  minstrelsy.' 

552.  unusual  slop  of  sudden  silence  :  see  145. 

553.  drowsy-flighted :  this  is  the  reading  of  the  Cambridge  Ms., 
which  Masson  adopts.  Lawes's  ed.,  1637,  and  Milton's  editions,  1645, 
1673,  read  '  drowsie  frighted.'  Masson  quite  conclusively  supports  the 
reading  of  the  Ms.,  which  he  explains, '  always  drowsily  flying.'  Keightley 
retains  '  drowsy  frighted,'  but  says  in  his  note,  '  we  are  strongly  inclined  to 
think  it  [the  Ms.  reading]  the  right  reading,  and  the  present  one  a  mis- 
take of  Lawes  himself  or  his  printer. ' 

558.  look:  rapt. 
560.  still :  ever. 


COM  US  277 

585.  period :  sentence. 

586.  for  me :  as  for  me. 

°°3-  grisly:  horrible.  'So  spake  the  grisly  terror  (Death).'  —  P.  I.., 
ii.  704. 

604.  Acheron:  a  river  of  the  lower  world;  here  used  for  the  lower 
world  itself. 

607.  purchase :  acquisition;  the  word  retains  here  much  of  its  original 
meaning,  i.e.  what  has  been  hunted  down  or  stolen. 

610.  yet :  notwithstanding;  emprise :  here,  readiness  for  any  danger- 
ous undertaking. 

619.  a  certain  shepherd-lad :  a  supposed  compliment  to  Milton  s 
dearest  friend,  Charles  Diodati. 

620.  to  see  to  :  to  look  upon. 

621.  virtuous:  efficacious,  potent. 
627.  simples  :  medicinal  herbs. 

634.  and  like  esteemed :  i.e.  and  (un) esteemed. 

635.  clouted  shoon  :  patched  shoes. 

636.  Moly :  (Gk.  /jlc&Kv)  a  fabulous  herb,  '  that  Hermes  [Mercury]  to 
wise  Ulysses  gave,'  as  a  protection  against  the  spells  of  Circe. —  Od.,  x. 
305.  See  Pope's  note,  in  his  translation,  x.  361,  Tennyson's  '  Lotus 
Eaters,'  133. 

638.  Hcemony :  supposed  to  be  from  Haemonia,  Thessaly,  famous  for 
its  magic. 

641.  Furies':  used  objectively. 

642.  little  reckoning  made  :  see  'Lycidas,'  116. 
646.  lime-twigs:  used  metaphorically. 

662.  root-bound :  referring  to  her  metamorphosis  into  a  laurel  tree 
(Sa^vrj). 

673.  his  :  old  neuter  genitive,  its. 

675.  Nepenthes  (Gk.  vt)-n*vQ\s,  sorrow-soothing) :  the  drug  (sup- 
posed to  be  opium)  given  by  Polydamna  to  Helena,  who  put  it  into  her 
husband  Menelaus's  wine.  —  Od.,  iv.  220  et  sea.  See  note  to  Pope's 
translation,  v.  302. 

'  Quaff,  oh  quaff  this  kind  nepenthe,  and  forget  this  lost  Lenore.' 

—  Poe's  Raven,  83. 

685.  unexempt    condition :    condition   to    which    all   mortal  frailty  is 
subject,  namely,  refreshment  after  toil,  ease  after  pain. 
688.  that :  referring  to  '  you,'  682. 


278 


NOTES 


695.  oughly :  the  spelling  in  Milton's  editions;  'as  Milton  has  the 
common  spelling,  ugly,  in  all  other  cases  where  he  has  used  the  word,  he 
must  have  intended  a  different  form  here,  perhaps  to  indicate  a  more 
guttural  pronunciation.'  —  Masson. 

698.  visor ed:  masked;  he  appears  as  'some  harmless  villager,'  v.  166. 

707.  budge  :  austere,  morose ;  fur  :  used  metaphorically  for  order,  sect, 
profession.  Landor  remarks  that  '  it  is  the  first  time  Cynic  or  Stoic  ever 
put  on  fur.'  '  Budge '  also  means  a  kind  of  fur,  but  it  certainly  cannot 
have  that  meaning  here;   the  context  requires  the  other  meaning. 

708.  from  the  Cynic  tub :  i.e.  from  the  tub  whence  Diogenes,  the 
Cynic,  delivered  them. 

714.  curious :  careful,  nice,  delicate,  fastidious. 

719.  hutched:  hoarded,  laid  up,  as  in  a  hutch  or  chest. 

724.  yet :  in  addition;  or,  it  may  have  the  force  of  '  even.' 

744.  it:  i.e.  beauty. 

750.  grain  :  '  a  term  derived  from  the  Latin  granum,  a  seed  or 
kernel,  or  grain  in  the  sense  of  "  grain  of  corn,"  —  which  word  granum 
had  come,  in  later  Latin  times,  to  be  applied  specifically  to  the  coccum,  a 
peculiar  dye-stuff  consisting  of  the  dried,  granular,  or  seed-like  bodies  of 
insects  of  the  genus  Coccus,  collected  in  large  quantities  from  trees  in 
Spain  and  other  Mediterranean  countries.  But  that  dye  was  distinctly  red. 
Another  name  for  it,  and  for  the  insect  producing  it,  was  kermes  .  .  . 
whence  our  "  carmine  "  and  "  crimson."  "  Grain,"  therefore,  meant  a  dye 
of  such  red  as  might  be  produced  by  the  use  of  kermes  or  coccum.'  — 
From  Masson's  note  on  'Sky-tinctured  grain,'  'P.  L.,' v.  285,  based  on 
George  P.  Marsh's  dissertation  on  the  etymology  of  the  word,  in  his 
'Lectures  on  the  English  Language'  (1st  S.,  4th  Am.  ed.,  1861,  pp.  65- 
75).  Masson's  note  on 'cheeks  of  sorry  grain'  is  '  i.e.  of  poor  colour,' 
as  if '  grain  '  were  used  in  the  general  sense  of  colour  merely.  It  is  better, 
I  think,  to  understand  '  grain '  here  in  its  special  sense  of  red,  but  used  by 
Comus  ironically,  as  indicated  by  '  sorry.'  Beautiful  cheeks  are  presumed 
to  have  a  delicate  reddish  hue;  but  where  the  features  are  homely  and  the 
complexion  coarse,  the  cheeks  may  be  said,  ironically,  to  be  of  a  sorry 
grain,  i.e.  not  red  at  all. 

759.  pranked :  set  off,  adorned,  decked. 

760.  bolt :  sift,  refine  ;  a  metaphor  from  the  process  of  separating 
flour  from  the  bran.  But  the  word  may  mean,  as  Dr.  Newton  explains, '  to 
shoot,'  or,  as  Dr.  Johnson  explains,  '  to  blurt  out,  or  throw  out  precipi- 
tantly.' 


COM  US  279 

782.  sun-clad :   spiritually  refulgent. 

785.  the  sublime  notion:  see  in  extract  from  'Apology  for  Smec- 
tymnuus,'  in  this  volume. 

788.  worthy  :   deserving,  in  a  bad  sense. 

790.  your  dear  wit :  the  change  from  '  thy '  to  '  your '  is  not  ex- 
plainable here. 

791.  her  dazzling  fence :  dear  wit's  and  gay  rhetoric's  dazzling  art 
of  fencing.  Todd  quotes  from  Prose  Works,  '  Hired  Masters  of  Tongue- 
fence  ' :  '  dear  wit '  and  '  gay  rhetoric,'  not  constituting  a  compound  idea 
in  Milton's  mind,  the  relative  '  that,'  of  which  they  are  the  antecedents, 
takes  a  singular  verb,  and  the  two  nouns  are  represented  by  the  singular 
personal  pronoun  '  her.'  In  the  following  passage  from  Spenser's  '  Faerie 
Queene,'  B.  II.  C.  ii.  St.  31,  two  subjects  take  a  singular  verb,  and  are 
represented  by  a  singular  personal  pronoun  : 

'  But  lovely  concord,  and  most  sacred  peace, 
Doth  nourish  vertue,  and  fast  friendship  breeds; 
Weake  she  makes  strong,  and  strong  thing  does  increace.' 

The  italicized  portion  of  the  following  passage  from  '  The  Passions  and 
Faculties  of  the  Soul,'  by  Reynolds,  C.  xxxix,  given  in  Trench's  '  Select 
Glossary,'  s.v.  Wit,  defines  well  ■  dear  wit ' :  '  I  take  not  wit  in  that  com- 
mon acceptation,  whereby  men  understand  some  sudden  flashes  of  conceit 
whether  in  style  or  conference,  tuhich,  like  rotten  wood  in  the  dark,  have 
more  shine  than  substance,  whose  use  and  ornament  are,  like  themselves, 
swift  and  vanishing,  at  once  both  admired  and  forgotten.  But  I  under- 
stand a  settled,  constant  and  habitual  sufficiency  of  the  understanding, 
whereby  it  is  enabled  in  any  kind  of  learning,  theory,  or  practice,  both  to 
sharpness  in  search,  subtilty  in  expression,  and  despatch  in  execution.' 

797.  brute  :  senseless  ;   lend  her  nerves  :  i.e.  to  this  sacred  vehemence. 

800-806.  spoken  aside. 

804.  speaks  thunder :  threatens  thunder  and  the  chains  of  Erebus  to 
some  of  the  Titans  who  are  disposed  to  be  rebellious  in  their  imprisonment 
in  Tartarus.  It  seems  to  be  meant  that  Erebus  is  a  more  painful  region 
than  that  into  which  they  were  cast  after  their  defeat  by  Jove  (Zeus). 

815.  snatched  his  wand :  see  v.  653. 

816.  without  his  rod  reversed :  the  process,  as  related  in  Ovid, 
'  Met.,'  xiv.  299-305,  by  which  the  companions  of  Ulysses  are,  through  his 
intervention,  retransformed  by  Circe. 

822.  Melibceus  :   Spenser  is  probably  referred  to. 


280  NOTES 

823.  soolhest :   truest,  most  faithful. 

826.  Sabrina :  the  legend  of  Sabrina  is  told  by  Geoffrey  of 
Monmouth,  in  his  '  Latin  History  of  the  Britons ' ;  by  Drayton,  in  his 
•  Polyolbion,'  6th  Song  ;  by  Warner,  in  his  '  Albion's  England '  ;  by 
Spenser,  in  his  '  Faerie  Queene,'  II.  x.  14-19,  and  by  Milton,  in  the  first 
book  of  his  '  History  of  Britain.' 

835.  Nereus :  *  the  good  spirit  of  the  yEgean  Sea,'  father  of  the 
nereids  or  sea-nymphs. 

852.  old  swain  :  Meliboeus. 

867-889.  Listen,  and  appear  to  us :  Oceanus  was  the  most  ancient 
sea-god,  .  .  .  Neptune,  with  his  trident,  was  a  later  being.  Tethys  was 
the  wife  of  Oceanus,  and  mother  of  the  river-gods.  Hoary  Nereus  is  the 
'aged  Nereus'  of  line  835.  The  Carpathian  wizard 'is  the  subtle  Proteus, 
ever  shifting  his  shape :  .  .  .  Triton,  son  of  Neptune  and  Aphrodite,  .  .  . 
he  was  '  scaly,'  because  the  lower  part  of  him  was  fish.  Glaucus  was  a 
Boeotian  fisherman  who  had  been  changed  into  a  marine  god :  .  .  .  was 
an  oracle  for  sailors  and  fishermen.  Leucothea  ('  the  white  goddess ')  was 
originally  Ino,  the  daughter  of  Cadmus,  and  had  received  her  new  name 
after  she  had  drowned  herself  and  been  converted  into  a  sea-deity.  Her 
son  that  rules  the  strands  was  Melicertes,  drowned  and  deified  with  her, 
and  thenceforward  known  as  Palcemon,  or  Portumnus,  the  god  of  bays  and 
harbours.  Thetis,  one  of  the  daughters  of  Nereus,  and  therefore  a  sea- 
deity  by  birth,  married  Peleus,  and  was  the  mother  of  Achilles :  .  .  .  Of 
the  Sirens,  or  singing  sea-nymphs  .  .  .  Parthenope  and  Ligea  were  two. 
The  '  dear  tomb '  of  the  first  was  at  Naples  .  .  .  the  '  golden  comb  '  of  the 
second  is  from  stories  of  our  own  mermaids.  —  Masson's  note,  condensed. 

900.  gentle  swain :  the  attendant  spirit  is  still  in  the  person  and 
habit  of  the  shepherd  Thyrsis. 

913.  cure:  curative  power. 

919.  his  :   old  neuter  genitive,  its. 

921.  to  wait :  to  attend  in  the  bower  (court)  of  Amphitrite  (wife 
of  Neptune). 

922.  daughter  of  Locrine :  see  vv.  827,  828.  The  order  of  the 
legendary  '  line '  is,  Anchises,  ^Eneas,  Ascanius,  Silvius,  Brutus,  Locrine. 

924.  brimmed :  full  to  the  brim  or  edge  of  the  bank  ;  cf.  •  full-fed 
river.'  —  Tennyson's  Palace  of  Art. 

929.  scorch  :   optative  subj. 

934_937-  The  true  construction  of  these  lines  is  pointed  out  by  Mr. 
Calton,  quoted  in  Todd's  variorum  ed. :    '  May  thy  lofty  head  be  crowned 


LYCIDAS  28l 

round  with  many  a  tower  and  terrace,  and  here  and  there  [may]  thy 
banks  [be  crowned]  upon  with  groves  of  myrrh  and  cinnamon.' 

960.  duck  or  nod :   i.e.  of  the  awkward  country  dancers. 

964.  mincing  Dryades  :    daintily  stepping  wood-nymphs. 

968.  goodly :  interesting  and  attractive  in  appearance. 

972.  assays:  trials. 

982.  Hesperus  and  his  daughters  three  :  brother  of  Atlas,  and  father  of 
the  Hesperides. 

1012.  But  now,  etc. :  may  be  an  independent  or  a  subordinate  sen- 
tence ;  if  the  latter,  understand  '  that '  after  ■  now.'  It  is,  perhaps,  prefera- 
ble to  take  it  as  an  independent  sentence. 

1015.  bowed  welkin:  arched  sky;  the  idea  is  that  the  bend  is  the 
less  noticeable  at  '  the  green  earth's  end.' 

1017.  corners:  horns. 

1021.  higher  than  the  sphery  chime:  ' i.e.  to  the  Empyrean,  beyond 
the  spheres  which  give  forth  their  music'  —  Keightley. 


Lycidas 

P.  167.  haud procul  a  littore  Britannico  :  'the  ship  having  struck  on 
a  rock  not  far  from  the  British  shore  and  been  ruptured  by  the  shock,  he, 
while  the  other  passengers  were  fruitlessly  busy  about  their  mortal  lives, 
having  fallen  forward  upon  his  knees,  and  breathing  a  life  which  was  im- 
mortal, in  the  act  of  prayer  going  down  with  the  vessel,  rendered  up  his 
soul  to  God,  August  10,  1637,  aged  25.'  —  Masson's  translation. 

1-5.  Yet  once  more:  these  verses  express  the  poet's  sense  of  his  un- 
ripeness for  the  exercise  of  the  poetic  gift.  See  his  '  English  Letter  to  a 
Friend,'  p.  40;   laurel,  myrtle,  and  ivy  are  poetical  emblems. 

5.  before  the  mellowing  year :  i.e.  before  the  mellowing  year  or 
period  of  his  own  life;  'mellowing'  is  intransitive,  growing  or  becoming 
mellow;  'year'  is  not  a  nominative,  the  subject  of  'does'  or  'shatters,' 
understood,  as  several  editors  make  it,  but  is  the  object  of  the  preposition 
'  before.' 

6.  dear:  of  intimate  concernment;  the  word  was  formerly  applied 
to  what  is  precious,  or  painful,  to  the  heart;  it  has  here,  of  course,  the  lat- 
ter application. 

7.'  Compels  me  to  disturb  your  season  due :  i.e.  compels  me  to 
write  a  poem  before  I  have  attained  to  the  requisite  '  inward  ripeness.' 


282  NOTES 

The  compound  subject,  *  bitter  constraint  and  sad  occasion  dear,'  is  logi- 
cally singular,  and  takes  a  singular  verb.  The  placing  of  a  noun  between 
two  epithets  is  usual  with  Milton,  especially  when  the  epithet  following  the 
noun  qualifies  the  noun  as  qualified  by  the  preceding  epithet;  e.g.  'hazel 
copses  green,'  v.  42;  'flower-inwoven  tresses  torn.'  —  Hymn  on  the 
Nativity,  187;   'beckoning  shadows  dire.' —  Com  us,  207. 

14.  melodious  tear :  '  tear '  is  used,  by  metonymy,  for  an  elegiac 
poem. 

15.  sacred  well :  the  Pierian  spring. 

16.  the  seat  of  Jove :  Mount  Olympus. 

17.  loudly:  i.e.  as  Hunter  explains,  in  lamentation;  or,  perhaps,  in 
praises. 

18.  Hence  with  denial  vain  and  coy  excuse :  away  with,  etc.,  i.e.  on 
wypart;  denial:  refusal;  coy :  shrinking,  hesitating,  reluctant,  by  reason 
of  what  is  expressed  in  the  opening  verses. 

19-22.  So  may  .  .  .  sable  shroud :  these  verses  are  parenthetical,  and 
v.  23  must  be  connected  with  v.  18,  '  Hence  with  denial  vain,'  etc.  1  have 
followed  Keightley's  pointing;  gentle  Muse:  high-born  (nobly  endowed) 
poet;  lucky  words:  words  that  will  favorably  perpetuate  my  memory; 
bid  fair  peace  :  pray  that  fair  peace  be,  etc. 

23-36.  For  we  were  nursed :  these  verses  express  in  pastoral  language 
the  devotion  to  their  joint  studies,  early  and  late,  of  Milton  and  King,  at 
Christ's  College,  Cambridge. 

25.  ere  the  high  lazvns  appeared :  i.e.  before  daybreak. 

28.    What  time  the  grey-fly  :  i.e.  the  sultry  noontide. 

30.  Oft  till  the  star  .  .  .  had  sloped  his  westering  wheel:  i.e.  they 
continued  their  studies  till  after  midnight,  while  in  the  meantime  many  of 
their  fellow-students  were  giving  themselves  to  music  and  dancing. 

^.    Tempered :  attuned,  modulated. 

36.  old  Damcetas :  '  may  be,'  says  Masson,  '  some  fellow  or  tutor 
of  Christ's  College,  if  not  Dr.  Bainbrigge,  the  master.' 

37.  Now  thou  art  gone  :  emotionally  repeated;   heavy:  sad. 

40.  With  wild  thyme  .  .  .  overgrown:  to  be  connected  only  with 
'  desert  caves,'  not  '  woods.' 

44.  to  :  responsively  to. 

45.  canker :  cankerworm. 

49.  Such:  used  in  its  etymological  sense,  so-like;  so-like  killing  is 
thy  loss;  thy :  of  thee;  the  personal  pronoun  here,  used  objectively,  and 
not  the  possessive  adjective  pronoun. 


LYCIDAS  283 

52.  the  steep :  some  one  of  the  Welsh  mountains. 

53.  lie  :  lie  buried. 

54.  Mona:  the  isle  of  Anglesey;  Mona  is  represented  by  Tacitus  as 
the  chief  seat  of  the  Druids;  shaggy:  densely  wooded;  'shaggy  hill.'  — 
P.  Z.,  iv.  224. 

'They  plucked  the  seated  hills,  with  all  their  load, 
Rocks,  waters,  woods,  and  by  the  shaggy  tops 
Uplifting,  bore  them  in  their  hands.'  — P.  Z.,  vi.  645. 

'  grots  and  caverns  shagged  with  horrid  shades.'  —  Comus,  429. 

55.  Deva :  the  river  Dee;  called  a  'wizard  stream'  from  its  asso- 
ciations with  Druidical  divinations  and  traditions,  or  Milton,  in  his  use  of 
the  epithet,  may  have  had  more  particularly  in  his  mind  the  belief  in 
regard  to  the  river  as  the  boundary  between  England  and  Wales,  that  it 
was  itself  prophetic.  Drayton,  in  his  '  Polyolbion,'  10th  Song,  says  of  the 
Dee: 

'  A  brook,  that  was  supposed  much  business  to  have  seen, 
Which  had  an  ancient  bound  twixt  Wales  and  England  been, 
And  noted  was  by  both  to  be  an  ominous  flood, 
That  changing  of  his  fords,  the  future  ill,  or  good, 
Of  either  country  told;   of  either's  war,  or  peace, 
The  sickness,  or  the  health,  the  dearth,  or  the  increase: 
And  that  of  all  the  floods  of  Britain,  he  might  boast 
His  stream  in  former  times  to  have  been  honoured  most, 
When  as  at  Chester  once  King  Edgar  held  his  court, 
To  whom  eight  lesser  kings  with  homage  did  resort : 
That  mighty  Mercian  lord,  him  in  his  barge  bestowed, 
And  was  by  all  those  kings  about  the  river  rowed.' 

Aubrey,  in  his  'Miscellanies,'  1696,  Chap.  XVII.,  says,  as  quoted  by 
Todd,  '  F.  Q.,'  IV.  xi.  39, '  when  any  Christian  is  drowned  in  the  river  Dee, 
there  will  appear  over  the  water,  where  the  corpse  is,  a  light,  by  which 
means  they  do  find  the  body;   and  it  is  therefore  called  the  holy  Dee.' 

58.  The  Muse  herself:  Calliope. 

59.  enchanting :  refers  to  the  power  he  exercised,  with  the  lyre  given 
him  by  Apollo,  over  wild  beasts,  trees,  rocks,  etc. 

64-69.  Alas!  what  boots  it:  in  these  verses  Milton,  with  his  high 
ideal  of  the  function  of  poetry,  laments  its  low  state,  and  momentarily 
gives  way  to  the  thought  that  it  would  be  better  to  conform  to  the  pre- 


284  NOTES 

vailing  flimsy  taste  than  to  'strictly  meditate  the  thankless  Muse,'  i.e.  seri- 
ously devote  one's  self  to  song  such  as  meets  with  no  favor  in  these  days. 
Amaryllis  and  Neaera  are  names  of  shepherdesses  in  Virgil's  first  and  third 
Eclogues,  and  in  other  pastorals;  'meditate  the  thankless  Muse '  is  after 
Virgil's  'Silvestrem  tenui  Musam  meditaris  avenaV —  Eel.,  i.  2. 

75.  Fury:  used  in  a  general,  and  not  in  its  special,  mythological 
sense;  the  allusion  is,  of  course,  to  Atropos,  one  of  the  Fates;  called  a 
blind  fury  by  reason  of  the  rashness  with  which  she  sometimes  slits  the 
thin-spun  thread  of  life,  as  in  the  case  of  his  friend  King;  '  slit '  now 
always  means  to  cut  lengthwise;   here,  to  cut  across,  sever. 

76.  But  not  the  praise :  '  slits '  is  understood,  but  it  doesn't  yoke 
well  with  '  praise  ' ;  the  nearest  substitute  would  be  '  cuts  off ' :  but  cuts 
not  off  the  praise. 

79.  Nor  in:  ie.  nor  (lies)  in,  not  set  off  in;  'set  off'  refers,  not 
to  '  Fame,'  but  to  *  glistering  foil,'  i.e.  the  bright  outside  exhibited  to  the 
world. 

81.  by :  as  Keightley  explains,  by  means  of,  under  the  influence  of;  he 
quotes  Habakkuk  i.  13 :  'Thou  art  of  purer  eyes  than  to  behold  evil.' 

^.fountain  Arethuse :  in  the  island  Ortygia,  near  Syracuse;  by 
metonymy  for  the  'Sicilian  Muse'  (v.  133),  or  the  fountain-nymph, 
Arethusa,  presiding  over  pastoral  poetry,  which  originated  in  Sicily,  and 
was  consummated  by  Theocritus,  a  native  of  Syracuse.  Virgil,  in  the 
opening  of  his  fourth  Eclogue,  Pollio,  invokes  the  Sicilian  Muses  (Sice- 
lides  Musse,  paullo  majora  canamus),  and  in  his  tenth  Eclogue,  Gallus,  he 
invokes  the  fountain  nymph,  Arethusa,  to  aid  him  in  his  last  pastoral  song 
(Extremum  hunc,  Arethusa,  mihi  concede  laborem) ;  and  thou  honoured 
flood,  smooth-sliding  Mincius :  Mantua,  Virgil's  birth  town,  or  what  he 
regarded  as  such  (he  was  born  in  the  neighboring  village  of  Andes), 
is  on  an  island  in  the  river  Mincius,  a  tributary  of  the  Po;  honoured 
flood  .  .  .  crowned  with  vocal  reeds :  i.e.  by  reason  of  its  association 
with  Virgil,  and  his  fame  as  a  pastoral  poet.  Lord  Tennyson,  in  his  ode 
'  To  Virgil,  written  at  the  request  of  the  Mantuans  for  the  nineteenth 
centenary  of  Virgil's  death,'  speaks  of  him  as  a  pastoral  poet,  in  the  fourth 
and  fifth  stanzas : 

'  Poet  of  the  happy  Tityrus 

piping  underneath  his  beechen  bowers; 
Poet  of  the  poet-satyr 

whom  the  laughing  shepherd  bound  with  flowers; 


LYCIDAS  285 

Chanter  of  the  Pollio,  glorying 

in  the  blissful  years  again  to  be, 
Summers  of  the  snakeless  meadow, 

unlaborious  earth  and  oarless  sea.' 

88.  my  oat  proceeds  :  the  suspended  pastoral  strain  is  resumed. 

89.  Herald  of  the  Sea  :  Triton,  with  '  wreathed  horn.' 

90.  in  Neptune's  plea :  Neptune's  is  an  objective  genitive :  in 
defence,  or  exculpation  of  Neptune.  This  explanation  of  '  plea '  is  sup- 
ported by  its  use  in  all  other  places  in  Milton's  poetry : 

.    *  So  spake  the  fiend,  and  with  necessity, 

The  tyrant's  plea,  excused  his  devilish  deeds.' 

—  P.  Z.,  iv.  394. 
'to  make  appear, 
With  righteous  plea,  their  utmost  vigilance.' — P.  Z.,  x.  30. 

•  Yet  of  another  plea  bethought  him  soon.'  —  P.  R.>  ill.  149. 

'  Weakness  is  thy  excuse,  .  .  . 
All  wickedness  is  weakness;   that  plea  therefore 
With  God  or  man  will  gain  thee  no  remission.' 

-  S.  A.,  834. 

Keightley  explains  that  Triton  '  came,  deputed  by  Neptune,  to  hold  a 
judicial  inquiry  into  the  affair.  We  have  the  Pleas  of  the  Crown  and  the 
Court  of  Common  Pleas.' 

96.  Hippotades  :  a  patronymic  of  ^Eolus,  god  of  the  winds. 

98.  the  level  brine  :  in  v.  167,  'the  watery  floor.' 

99.  Sleek  Panope :  one  of  the  sea- nymphs,  daughter  of  Nereus; 
the  name  (in  Gk.  Uav6in})  seems  to  indicate  that  the  nymph  is  a  personi- 
fication of  a  smooth  sea  ('  level  brine  ')  which  affords  a  full  viezv  all  around 
to  the  horizon.  The  voyager  on  such  a  sea  is  '  ringed  with  the  azure 
world.'     The  epithet  '  sleek  '  is  in  accord  with  the  personification. 

100-102.  It  was  that  fatal :  these  verses  are  not  part  of  the  answer 
which  Hippotades  brings;   the  poet  speaks  in  his  own  person. 

101.  Built  in  the  eclipse:  eclipses  were  believed  to  shed  malign  in- 
fluences (see  '  P.  L.,'  i.  594-599) ;  one  of  the  ingredients  of  the  witches' 
hell-broth,  in  '  Macbeth,'  is  '  slips  of  yew,  slivered  in  the  moon's  eclipse '  ; 
rigged  with  curses  dark :  '  with,'  of  course,  though  this  has  been 
questioned,  expresses  accompaniment;  to  understand  it  as  instrumental, 
makes  a  crazy  hyperbole  of  the  phrase. 


286  NOTES 

102.  sacred  head :  King  was  dedicated  to  the  holy  office  of  the  min- 
istry.    He  is  made  to  represent,  in  the  poem,  a  pure  priesthood. 

103-107.  Next  Camus :  Dr.  Masson's  note,  and  the  included  quoted  one, 
are  the  most  acceptable  of  the  numerous  notes  on  this  passage :  '  Camus, 
the  tutelary  genius  of  the  Cam,  and  of  Cambridge  University,  appeared  as 
one  of  the  mourning  figures;  for  had  not  King  been  one  of  the  young 
hopes  of  the  University?  The  garb  given  to  Camus  must  doubtless  be 
characteristic,  and  is  perhaps  most  succinctly  explained  by  a  Latin  note 
which  appeared  in  a  Greek  translation  of  "  Lycidas  "  by  Mr.  John  Plumptre 
in  1797.  "The  mantle,"  said  Mr.  Plumptre  in  this  note,  "is  as  if  made 
of  the  plant '  river-sponge,'  which  floats  copiously  in  the  Cam;  the  bonnet 
of  the  river-sedge,  distinguished  by  vague  marks  traced  somehow  over  the 
middle  of  the  leaves,  and  serrated  at  the  edge  of  the  leaves  after  the 
fashion  of  the  dl,  dl  of  the  hyacinth."  It  is  said  that  the  flags  of  the  Cam 
still  exhibit,  when  dried,  these  dusky  streaks  in  the  middle,  and  apparent 
scrawlings  on  the  edge;  and  Milton  (in  whose  Ms.  "scrawled  o'er''''  was 
first  written  for  "inwrought"}  is  supposed  to  have  carried  away  from  the 
"  arundifer  Camus11  (*  Eleg.,'  i.  11)  this  exact  recollection.  He  identifies 
the  edge-markings  with  the  dl,  dl  (Alas!  Alas!)  which  the  Greeks  fancied 
they  saw  on  the  leaves  of  the  hyacinth,  commemorating  the  sad  fate  of 
the  Spartan  youth  from  whose  blood  that  flower  had  sprung.' 

107.  pledge:  child;   Lat. pignus  amoris. 

109.  The  Pilot:  St.  Peter,  whom,  it  must  be  understood,  Milton 
presents  as  '  the  type  and  head  of  true  episcopal  power,'  to  which  he  was 
in  no  wise  opposed.  He  wished  the  bishop  to  be  a  truly  spiritual  overseer, 
as  the  word  signifies. 

114.  Enow:  an  archaic  plural  form  of  'enough';  'hellish  foes 
enow.'  —  P.  Z.,  ii.  504;  '  evils  enow  to  darken  all  his  goodness.'  — Antony 
and  Cleopatra,  I.  iv.  II. 

117.  to  scramble  at  the  shearer's  feast:  to  scramble  for  and  gobble 
up  fat  benefices. 

118.  the  worthy  bidden  guest:  one  who  has  been  truly  called  to 
serve  the  Church. 

119.  Blind  mouths:  'mouths'  is  used,  by  synecdoche,  for  gluttons, 
as  the  five  preceding  verses  show.  Ruskin's  explanation  of  the  phrase,  in 
his  '  Sesame  and  Lilies,'  is  very  ingenious,  but  it  is  not  likely  that  Milton 
meant  it  to  have  such  significance.  '  Those  two  monosyllables,'  he  says, 
'  express  the  precisely  accurate  contraries  of  right  character  in  the  two 
great  offices  of  the  Church,  —  those  of  Bishop  and  Pastor.    A  Bishop  means 


LYCIDAS  287 

a  person  who  sees.  A  Pastor  means  one  who  feeds.  The  most  unbishoply 
character  a  man  can  have  is,  therefore,  to  be  Blind.  The  most  unpastoral 
is,  instead  of  feeding,  to  want  to  be  fed,  —  to  be  a  Mouth.  Take  the  two 
reverses  together,  and  you  have  "  blind  mouths."  ' 

Milton  makes  here  his  first  dnset  upon  the  ecclesiastical  abuses  of  the 
time.  He  was  destined  to  make,  not  long  after,  fiercer  onsets  in  his 
polemic  prose  writings. 

1 20.  the  least :  connect  with  '  aught  else  '  rather  than  '  belongs.' 

122.  What  recks  it  them  :  what  does  it  concern  them;  They  are  sped  : 
they've  been  successful  in  obtaining  rich  livings. 

123.  list:  please;  in  earlier  English  generally  used  impersonally  with 
a  dative;  when  they  list:  i.e.  when  it  suits  them,  not  otherwise.  They 
don't  act  from  any  sense  of  duty. 

123,  124.  their  lean  and  flashy  songs  grate  :  their  wretched  sermons  are 
wretchedly  delivered  with  the  emphasis  of  insincerity.  Masson  explains 
'scrannel,'  'screeching,  ear-torturing.' 

126.  wind  and  the  rank  mist  they  draw:  i.e.  the  mere  wind  of 
some  sermons  and  the  poisonous  doctrines  of  others,  which  their  flocks 
inhale  and  drink  in,  and  then  impart  the  resulting  spiritual  disease  to 
others. 

1 28,  1 29.  the  grim  wolf:  generally  understood  to  mean  the  Church  of 
Rome.  Bishop  Newton,  who  first  understood  the  passage  to  have  refer- 
ence to  Archbishop  Laud's  '  privily  introducing  popery '  afterward  gave 
the  alternative  explanation,  '  besides  what  the  popish  priests  privately  per- 
vert to  their  religion,'  which  Masson  conclusively  supports  in  his  '  Life  of 
Milton,'  and  adopts  in  his  note  on  the  passage  in  his  edition  of  the  '  Poeti- 
cal Works';  the  'privy  paw'  doesn't  suit  Archbishop  Laud,  who  did 
everything  above-board. 

130,  131.  But  that  two-handed  engine:  see  my  explanation  of  these 
verses  in  the  Introductory  Remarks. 

132.  Return,  Alpheus :  he  invokes  the  return  of  the  pastoral  Muse 
when  the  dread  denouncing  voice  of  St.  Peter  has  ceased.  Alpheus,  the 
chief  river  of  Peloponnesus,  flowing  through  Arcadia  and  Elis.  The 
river-god  loved  the  nymph  Arethusa,  of  Elis,  whom,  in  her  flight  from  him, 
Diana  changed  into  a  fountain  which  was  directed  by  the  goddess  under 
the  sea  to  the  island  of  Ortygia,  near  Syracuse.  The  river  followed  under 
sea  and  united  with  the  fountain.     See  note  on  v.  85. 

136.  use:  frequent. 

138.  whose  :  refers  to  '  valleys ' ;   the  swart  star  :  understood  by  editors 


288  NOTES 

to  mean  the  dog-star  Sirius.  But  it  may  mean,  and  I  think  it  does,  the 
day-star,  the  sun.  See  v.  168;  'diurnal  star.'  —  /5.  L.,  x.  1069;  swart: 
used  causatively;  sparely  looks:  i.e.  by  reason  of  the  shades. 

139.  quaint  enamelled  eyes:  flowers  of  curious  structure  and  of 
variegated  glossy  colors  (  ?) ;  the  words  are  more  enjoyable  than  distinctly 
intelligible;  in  the  'P.  L.,'  ix.  529,  it  is  said  of  the  serpent : 

'  oft  he  bowed 
His  turret  crest,  and  sleek  enamelled  neck,  fawning.' 

Here  'enamelled'  appears  to  mean  variegated  and  glossy;   so  in  Arcades: 

*  O'er  the  smooth  enamelled  green.' 

141.  purple :  an  imperative,  to  be  construed  with  'throw.' 

142.  rathe :  early,  soon  ;  the  old  positive  form  of  '  rather,'  sooner. 
Tennyson  uses  the  word  in  his  '  In  Memoriam,'  c.  ix.  2,  'The  men  of  rathe 
and  riper  years';  and  in  '  Lancelot  and  Elaine,'  339,  'Till  rathe  she  rose,' 
etc. ;   that  forsaken  dies :  forsaken  by  the  sun. 

I53«  with  false  surmise :  i.e.  that  we  have  the  body  of  Lycidas  with  us. 

158.  monstrous  world :  the  world  of  sea-monsters. 

159.  moist:  tearful. 

160.  the  fable  of  Bellerus  old:  i.e.  the  scene  of  the  fable. 

1 61-163.    Where  the  great  Vision  :  see  Introductory  Remarks. 
164.   O  ye  dolphins :  an  allusion  to  the  story  of  Arion. 

166.  your  sorrow :  used  objectively,  he  who  is  the  object  of  your 
sorrow.    '  Our  love,  our  hope,  our  sorrow,  is  not  dead.'  —  Shelley's  Adonais. 

167.  watery  floor :  what  is  called  the  level  brine,  v.  98;  'the  shin- 
ing levels  of  the  lake.'  —  Tennyson's  Morte  d' Arthur,  suggested,  no  doubt, 
by  the  classical  aquora. 

169-171.  repairs  his  drooping  head :  Milton,  in  these  lines,  compares 
great  things  with  small  (parvis  componit  magna) ;  if  they  are  '  considered 
curiously,'  the  sun  makes  his  toilet  on  rising  from  his  ocean  bed ! 

172.  sunk  .  .  .  mounted:  any  one  reading  this  verse  for  the  first 
time  would  be  likely  to  get  the  impression  that  these  words  are  participles  ; 
this  would  not  be  the  case  if  '  sunk '  were  '  sank,'  originally  the  distinctive 
singular  form  of  the  preterite,  '  sunk '  being  plural;   AS.  sane,  suncon. 

173.  Him  that  walked  the  waves:  a  beautiful  designation  of  the 
Saviour,  in  accord  with  the  occasion  of  the  poem;  and  so  St.  Peter  is 
designated  as  '  the  Pilot  of  the  Galilean  Lake.' 

174.  along:  beside. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  289 

176.  unexpressive  :  inexpressible. 

184.  thy  large  recompense:  'thy'  is  the  personal,  not  the  possessive 
adjective  pronoun,  being  used  objectively,  —  the  large  recompense  thou 
hast  received,  in  which  is  included  thy  becoming  the  genius  of  the  shore; 
good:  kind,  propitious;  'sent  by  some  spirit  to  mortals  good.' — 11  Pens., 
154- 

185.  in  that  perilous  flood :  'in'  is  more  poetic  than  'on'  or  'o'er' 
would  be;  'that  perilous  flood'  is  spoken  of  as  a  domain  in  which  is  in- 
cluded the  atmosphere  with  its  winds  and  storms;  so,  to  wander  in  the 
desert. 

186.  uncouth:  used,  it  is  most  likely,  in  its  original  sense  of 
'  unknown,'  Milton  so  regarding  himself,  as  a  poet;  there  may  be  involved 
the  idea  (supported  by  the  opening  lines  of  the  Elegy)  of  wanting  in 
poetic  skill  and  grace. 

188.  tender  stops:  poetic  transference  of  epithet,  'tender'  being  logi- 
cally applicable  to  the  music ;  various  quills  :  used,  by  metonymy,  for 
the  varied  moods,  strains,  metres,  and  other  features  of  the  Elegy; 
eager  thought :  perhaps  meant  to  signify  as  much  as  sharp  grief;  Doric  : 
equivalent  to  pastoral,  the  great  Greek  bucolic  poets  having  written  in 
the  Doric  dialect. 

190,  191.  had  .  .  .  was:  note  the  distinctive  use  of  these  auxiliaries, 
the  former  being  used  with  a  participle  of  a  transitive  verb,  and  the  latter, 
with  that  of  an  intransitive;   all  the  hills  :  i.e.  their  shadows. 

192.  twitched:  Keightley  explains,  'pulled,  drew  tightly  about  him 
on  account  of  the  chilliness  of  the  evening.'  Jerram  explains, '  snatched  up 
from  where  it  lay  beside  him.' 

Samson  Agonistes  ( 

P.  187.  Aristotle:  Greek  philosopher,  B.C.  384-322;  the  reference  is 
to  'The  Poetics,'  (Ilepl  ironjTiicijs),  the  greater  part  of  which  is  devoted  to 
the  theory  of  tragedy. 

P.  187.  a  verse  of  Euripides :  <pdeipov<riv  r\Bt\  XP^^  bpuXlai  ica/caL, 
'evil  communications  corrupt  good  manners  ';  found  in  the  fragments  of 
both  Euripides  and  Menander. 

P.  187.  Pareus :  David  Pareus,  a  German  Calvinist  theologian  and 
biblical  commentator,  1548- 1622. 

P.  187.     Dionysius  the  elder  :  known  as  'the  tyrant  of  Syracuse,'  B.C. 
431-367;   repeatedly  contended  for  the  prize  of  tragedy  at  Athens. 
U 


290 


NOTES 


P.  187.  Seneca  {Lucius  Annceus)  :  Roman  Stoic  philosopher,  B.C. 
3  ?-65  A.D. 

P.  187.  Gregory  Nazianzen :  saint;  a  Greek  father  of  the  Church, 
Bishop  of  Constantinople,  about  328-389. 

P.  188.  Martial:  M.  Valerius  Martialis,  Latin  epigrammatic  poet, 
43-104  a.d.  or  later. 

P.  188.  apolelymenon  :  'a  Greek  word,  awoXeXv^vov,  "loosed  from," 
i.e.  from  the  fetters  of  strophe,  antistrophe,  or  epode;  monostrophic 
{lxovb<TTpo(j>oi)  meaning  literally  "single  stanzaed,"  i.e.  a  strophe  with- 
out answering  antistrophe.  So  alloeostrophic  (d\\ot6crT/3o0os)  signifies 
stanzas  of  irregular  strophes,  strophes  not  consisting  of  alternate  strophe 
and  antistrophe.'  — John  Churton  Collins. 

P.  1 88.  beyond  the  fifth  act :  '  Neve  minor,  neu  sit  quinto  productior 
actu  Fabula.'  —  Horace,  Ars  Poetica,  189. 

P.  191.  Agonistes :  one  who  contends  as  an  athlete.  'The  term  is 
peculiarly  appropriate  to  Samson,  for  he  is  the  hero  of  the  drama  ...  and 
the  catastrophe  results  from  the  exhibition  of  his  strength  in  the  public 
games  of  the  Philistines.'  — /.  Churton  Collins. 

2.  dark  :   blind. 

6.  else  :  otherwhile,  at  other  times. 

9.  draught :  appositive  to  •  air.' 

11.  day-spring:   the  dawn. 

12.  With  this  line  Samson's  soliloquy  begins,  the  attendant  having  with- 
drawn. 

13.  Dagon  :  god  of  the  Philistines;  represented  in  the  '  Paradise  Lost ' 
(i.  462,  463)  as  a  '  sea-monster,  upward  man,  and  downward  fish.'  See 
1  Sam.  v.  1-9. 

16.  popular  :   of  the  people. 

19-21.  Restless  thoughts,  that  rush  thronging  upon  me  found  alone. 

24.    Twice  by  an  Angel :   see  Judges  xiii. 

27.  charioting,  etc. :  withdrawing  as  in  a  chariot  his  godlike  presence. 

28.  and  from  :  and  (as)  from. 

31.  separate :  separated,  set  apart;  'the  Holv  Ghost  said,  Separate  me 
Barnabas  and  Saul  for  the  work  whereunto  I  have  called  them.'  —  Acts  xiii.  2. 

35.  under  task  :  under  a  prescribed  task. 

41.  Eyeless,  in  Gaza,  etc. :  Thomas  De  Quincey,  in  his  paper  en- 
titled '  Milton  vs.  Southey  and  Landor,'  remarks :  '  Mr.  Landor  makes  one 
correction  by  a  simple  improvement  in  the  punctuation,  which  has  a  very 
fine  effect.  .  .  .     Samson  says,   .  .  . 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  29 1 

Ask  for  this  great  deliverer  now,  and  find  him 
Eyeless  in  Gaza  at  the  mill  with  slaves. 

Thus  it  is  usually  printed,  that  is,  without  a  comma  in  the  latter  line; 
but,  says  Landor,  '  there  ought  to  be  commas  after  eyeless,  after  Gaza,  after 
mill'  And  why?  because  thus,  'the  grief  of  Samson  is  aggravated  at 
every  member  of  the  sentence.'  He  (like  Milton)  was  I,  blind;  2,  in  a 
city  of  triumphant  enemies;  3,  working  for  daily  bread;  4,  herding  with 
slaves  —  Samson  literally,  and  Milton  with  those  whom  politically  he 
regarded  as  such.' 

45.  but  through :  except  for,  had  it  not  been  for. 

55.  Proudly  secure:  'secure'  is  subjective,  free  from  care  or  fear; 
*  Security  is  mortals'  chiefest  enemy.'  —  Macbeth,  III.  v.  32. 

56.  By  weakest  subtleties:  by  those  most  weak  but  crafty  creatures 
(women),  who  are  not  made  to  rule,  but  to  serve  as  subordinates  to  the 
rule  of  wisdom,  the  prerogative  of  man.  This  was,  unfortunately,  too 
much  Milton's  own  opinion  of  women. 

58.  withal :   at  the  same  time. 

62.  above  my  reach  :  above  the  reach  of  my  capacity  to  know. 

63.  Suffices  :   it  is  sufficient  (to  know) . 

67.   O  loss  of  sight :  Milton  here  speaks  virtually  in  propria  persona. 

70.  Light  the  prime  work  of  God.  —  Gen.  i.  3;  'offspring  of  Heaven 
first  born.'  —  P.  L.,  iii.  I. 

75,  76.  exposed  to  daily  fraud :  Milton  here,  no  doubt,  drew  from  his 
own  experiences  as  a  father. 

77.  still :   ever,  always. 

82.  all:  any;  'without  all  doubt.'  —  Henry  VIII.,  IV.  i.  113;  'with- 
out all  remedy.'  —  Macbeth,  III.  ii.  II. 

87.  silent:  invisible;  the  epithet  which  pertains  to  one  sense,  that 
of  hearing,  is  transferred  to  another,  that  of  sight.     Lat.  luna  silens. 

89.  Hid  in  her  vacant  inter  lunar  cave:  the  moon  is  poetically 
represented  as  hid  in  a  cave,  and  giving  no  light  (vacant),  between  her 
disappearance  and  return,  in  the  sky. 

91,  92.  if  it  be  true  that  light  is  in  the  soul :  the  soul  proceeding  from 
God,  and  partaking  of  the  *  Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  increate.' 
—  P.  L.,  iii.  6. 

93.  She  (the  soul)  all  in  every  part  (of  the  body). 

95.  obvious  :  literally,  in  the  way  of  (Lat.  obvius),  and  so,  exposed; 
'  Not  obvious,  not  obtrusive,  but  retired.'  —  P.  L.,  viii.  504. 


292 


NOTES 


106.  obnoxious :  subject,  liable. 

in.  steering:  directing  their  course;  'With  radiant  feet  the  tissued 
clouds  down  steering.'  —  Ode  on  Nativity,  146. 

118.  at  random:  anyway  or  anyhow;  carelessly  diffused:  passively 
stretched  upon  the  ground,  sprawling. 

'  His  limbs  did  rest 
Diffused  and  motionless.' 

—  Shelley's  Alastor. 

Spenser  uses  two  phrases  of  similar  import ;  ■  Poured  out  in  loosnesse  on 
the  grassy  ground.'  —  F.  Q.,  I.  vii.  7;  'carelessly  displaid. ' — F.  (?.,  XI. 
v.  32.    This  use  of  '  diffused  '  is  a  Latinism. 

•  Publica  me  requies  curarum  somnus  habebat, 
Fusaqxxe  erant  toto  languida  membra  tore' 

—  Ovid,  Ex  Ponto,  III.  iii.  7,  8. 
122.  weeds  :   garments,  clothes. 
128.    Who  tore  the  lion  :   see  Judges  xiv.  5,  6. 

132.  hammered  cuirass:  the  cuirass  was  originally  of  leather;  here 
of  metal,  formed  with  the  hammer. 

133.  Chalybean-tempered  steel:  having  the  temper  of  steel  wrought 
by  the  Chalybes,  an  ancient  Asiatic  people  dwelling  south  of  the  Black 
Sea,  and  famous  as  workers  in  iron;  hence,  Lat.  chalybs,  steel,  Gr. 
X<i\v\l/.  Dr.  Masson  accents  '  Chalybean  '  on  the  third  syllable;  it  seems 
rather  to  have  the  accent  here  on  the  second. 

134.  Adamantean  proof :  having  the  strength  of  adamant. 
136.  insupportably :   irresistibly. 

139.  his  lion  ramp:  his  leap  or  spring  as  of  a  lion.  In  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  sixth  day  of  the  creation  {P.  L.,  vii.  463-466)  it  is  said  of  the 
lion, 

•  now  half  appeared 
The  tawny  lion,  pawing  to  get  free 
His  hinder  parts,  then  springs,  as  broke  from  bonds, 
And  rampant  shakes  his  brinded  inane.' 

144.  foreskins :   uncircumcised  Philistines. 

145.  Ramath-lechi  :   see  Judges  xv.  17. 

147.  Azza :  Gaza.  See  Judges  xvi.  3.  The  form  Azzah  is  used 
Deut.  ii.  23. 

148.  Hebron,  seat  of  giants  old:  for  Hebron  was  the  city  of  Arba, 


SAMSON  AGONISTES 


293 


the  father  of  Anak,  and  the  seat  of  the  Anakims.  —  Josh.  xv.  13,  14. 
1  And  the  Anakims  were  giants,  which  come  of  the  giants.'  —  Num.  xiii. 
33.     Netvton. 

149.  No  journey  of  a  sabbath-day :  Hebron  was  about  thirty  miles 
distant  from  Gaza;  a  sabbath-day's  journey  was  but  three-quarters  of  a 
mile. 

150.  Like  whom  :   Atlas. 

157.  complain  :   directly  transitive,  in  the  sense  of  lament,  bewail. 
163.  visual  beam  :  ray  of  light,  the  condition  of  seeing. 

•  the  air, 
No  where  so  clear,  sharpen' d  his  visual  ray.' 

—  P.  Z.,  iii.  620. 

'  then  [Michael]  purged  with  euphrasy  and  rue 
The  visual  nerve,  for  he  [Adam]  had  much  to  see.' 

—  P.Z.,  xi.  415. 

165.  Since  man  on  earth :  a  Latinism  like  Post  urbem  conditam, 
of  frequent  occurrence  in  Milton's  poetry;  'Never  since  created  man.'  — 
P.  Z.,  i.  573;   'After  the  Tuscan  mariners  transformed.' —  Comus,  48. 

169.  pilch  :  usually  pertains  to  height;   here  to  depth. 

172.  the  sphere  of  fortune  :   a  constantly  revolving  globe. 

173.  But  thee  :  construe  with  'him,'  third  line  above:  'For  him  I 
reckon  not  in  high  estate  .  .  .   But  thee.' 

181.  Eshtaol  and  Zora  :   see  Josh.  xix.  41. 

185.  tumours:  perturbations,  agitations;  so  tumor  is  used  in  Latin: 
'  Cum  tumor  animi  resedisset ;  '  '  Erat  in  tumore  animus.' 

190.  superscription  :  a  continuation  of  the  metaphor  in  preceding 
line. 

191-193.  In  prosperous  days  they  swarm  :  perhaps  from  Milton's  own 
experience  after  the  Restoration.  — Masson. 

207.  mean  :  moderate,  as  compared  with  his  physical  strength. 

208.  This  :  i.e.  wisdom. 

209.  drove  me  transverse :  a  continuation  of  the  metaphor  in  198- 
200.     So  in  '  P.  L.,'  iii.  488 : 

'  A  violent  cross  wind  from  either  coast 
Blows  them  transverse  ten  thousand  leagues  away 
Into  the  devious  air.' 


294 


NOTES 


212.  pretend  they  ne^er  so  wise:  claim  they  to  be  never  so  wise;   the 
idea  of  falseness  is  not  in  the  word  ■  pretend '  as  in  its  present  use. 
219.   The  first  I  saw  at  Timna  :  Judges  xiv. 

221.  The  daughter  of  an  infidel:  Milton  probably  had  his  first  wife, 
Mary  Powell,  in  his  mind,  whose  family  was  infidel  to  his  own  political 
creed. 

222.  motioned:  proposed. 

223.  intimate  :  inward,  inmost. 

228.  fond :  foolish. 

229.  vale  of  Sorec :  a  valley  (and  stream)  between  Askelon  and  Gaza, 
not  far  from  Zorah.  —  Judges  xvi.  4. 

230.  specious  :  good  appearing. 

235,  236.  vanquished  with  a  peal  of  words  :  a  metaphor  drawn  from  the 
storming  of  a  fortress.  A  similar  metaphor  is  found  in  '  1  Henry  VI.,' 
III.  iii.  79,  80 : 

1 1  am  vanquished;  these  haughty  words  of  hers 
Have  battered  me  like  roaring  cannon-shot.' 

237.  provoke  :  to  call  forth,  to  challenge.     Lat.  provocare. 

241.  That  fault  I  take  not  on  me  :  'with  an  occult  reference,  perhaps, 
to  the  conduct  of  those  in  power  in  England  after  Cromwell's  death,  when 
Milton  still  argued  vehemently  against  the  restoration  of  the  Stuarts.'  — 
Masson. 

247.  ambition :  used  literally,  going  about  in  the  service  of  some 
object,  canvassing.     Lat.  ambitio. 

248.  spoke  loud :  proclaimed. 
253.  Etham :  Judges  xv.  8,  9. 

257.  harass:  ravaging. 

258.  on  some  conditions  :  Judges  xv.  1 1— 13. 

263.  a  trivial  weapon  :  the  jawbone  of  an  ass.     Judges  xv.  15. 

268-276.  But  what  more  oft:z.  plain  reference  to  the  state  of  England, 
and  to  Milton's  own  position  there,  after  the  Restoration.  — Masson. 

271.  strenuous:  ardently  maintained.  Newton  quotes  a  similar 
sentiment  from  the  oration  of  yEmilius  Lepidus,  the  consul,  to  the  Roman 
people,  against  Sulla:  'Annuite  legibus  impositis;  accipite  otium  cum 
servitio;  '  —  but  for  myself — 'potior  visa  est  periculosa  libertas  quieto 
servitio.' 

278.  How  Succoth  :  Judges  viii.  4-9. 

282.  how  ingrateful  Ephraim  :  Judges  xi.  15-27. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  295 

287-289.  sore  battU :  the  battle  fought  by  Jephthah  with  Ephraim. 
Judges  xii.  4-6. 

291.  mine:  my  people. 

297,  298.  For  of  such  doctrine :  '  Observe  the  peculiar  effect  of  con- 
tempt given  to  the  passage  by  the  rapid  rhythm  and  the  sudden  introduc- 
tion of  a  rhyme  in  these  two  lines.' — Masson. 

305.  They  ravel  more,  still  less  resolved :  they  become  more  con- 
fused, and  ever  less  disentangled. 

327.  careful  step:  'careful'  is  used  subjectively;  a  step  indicating 
that  Manoa  was  full  of  care,  deeply  concerned.  Chaucer  so  uses 
1  dredeful ' : 

*  With  dredeful  foot  thanne  stalketh  Palamoun. ' 

—  Knight's  Tale,  1479. 

333.  uncouth :  literally,  unknown;  strange,  with  the  idea  of  the 
disagreeable. 

334.  gloried :  a  participial  form  derived  from  the  noun. 

335.  informed:  directed. 

343.  Angels' :  I  have  followed  Keightley  in  making  'Angels'  a 
genitive. 

345.  Duelled:  it  was  an  individual  fight  on  the  part  of  Samson. 

354.  as  :  that ;  this  use  of  '  as '  after  '  so '  and  '  such  '  is  not  uncommon 
in  Shakespeare  and  Bacon,  and  the  later  literature. 

'  I  feel  such  sharp  dissension  in  my  breast, 
Such  fierce  alarums  both  of  hope  and  fear, 
As  I  am  sick  with  working  of  my  thoughts.' 

—  1  Henry  VI.,  V.  v.  86. 
364.  miracle  :  wonder,  admiration. 

373.  Appoint:    'Do    not   you   arrange  or   direct   the    disposition    of 
heavenly  things.'  —  Keightley. 
383.   Of  Timna  :  Judges  xiv. 

394.  my  capital  secret:  a  play  on  the  word  'capital'  is,  no  doubt, 
designed;  chief  secret  and  the  secret  of  his  strength  depending  upon  his 
hair. 

433.  That  rigid  score :  rigorous  account  or  reckoning. 

434.  This  day :  Judges  xvi.  23. 
453-  idolists  :  idolaters. 

455.  propense :  disposed. 

466.  provoked :  called  forth,  challenged. 


296  NOTES 

499,  500.  a  sin  that  Gentiles  :  supposed  to  be  an  allusion  to  Tantalus, 
who  divulged  the  secrets  of  the  gods. 

503.  but  act  not:  take  not  a  part  in  thy  own  affliction;  'thy'  is 
objective  :  in  afflicting  thyself. 

505.  self-preservation  bids  :  i.e.  that  thou  do  so. 

509.  his  debt :  debt  to  him. 

516.  what  offered  means :  those  offered  means  which. 

528.  blazed:  trumpeted  abroad. 

531.  affront :  a  front  to  front  encounter.  The  word  occurs  as  a  noun 
but  once  in  Shakespeare  : 

'  There  was  a  fourth  man  in  a  silly  habit, 
That  gave  the  affront  with  them.'  —  Cymb.,  V.  iii.  87. 

i.e.  faced  or  confronted  the  enemy  (Rolfe). 

533.  venereal  trains  :  snares  of  Venus,  or  love. 

537.  me :  an  ethical  dative?  or  it  may  be  the  usual  dative. 

539.  Then  turned  me  out  ridiculous :  an  object  of  ridicule,  a  laugh- 
ing-stock. 

549.  rod:  ray  of  light. 

552.  turbulent :  used  causatively. 

563-572.  Now  blind,  disheartened :  almost  literally  autobiographic. 

569.  robustious:  Masson  explains  'full  of  force';  but  'vain  monu- 
ment of  strength '  in  the  following  verse,  does  not  seem  to  support  this 
explanation. 

581.  caused  a  fountain  :  Judges  xv.  18,  19. 

590-598.  All  otherwise  :  this  pathetic  passage  is  quite  literally  autobio- 
graphic, if  'race  of  shame'  be  excepted;  but  even  this  might  be  under- 
stood, in  Milton's  case,  to  be  used  objectively. 

599.  suggestions:  the  word  has  a  stronger  meaning  than  at  present: 
inward  promptings. 

'  why  do  I  yield  to  that  suggestion 
Whose  horrid  image  doth  unfix  my  hair 
And  make  my  seated  heart  knock  at  my  ribs 
Against  the  use  of  nature?'  —  Macbeth,  I.  iii.  34. 

604.  how  else  :  elsewise,  otherwise. 

612.  all  his  (torment's)  fierce  accidents:  all  the  fierce  things  which 
fall  to,  or  happen  to,  body  or  mind. 

613.  her  :  the  mind's. 

615.  answerable:  corresponding. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  297 

1 

624.  apprehensive:  taking  hold  of,  mentally;  having  the  power  of 
conception  or  perception. 

627.  medicinal :  accented  on  the  penult. 

628.  snowy  Alp :  used  generically  for  any  snowy  mountain.     - 
633.  his:  Heaven's. 

635.  message :  messenger,  angel. 

637.  amain :  vigorously. 

643.  provoked :  called  forth,  challenged. 

645.  to  be  repeated :  to  be  again  and  again  made  the  subject  of  their 
cruelty  or  scorn.  —  Masson. 

650.  speedy  death  :  an  appositive  of '  prayer.' 

658.  much  persuasion :  to  be  construed  with  '  many  are  the  sayings,' 
etc.,  and  'much  persuasion  (is)  sought.' 

662.  dissonant  mood  from  :  mood  dissonant  from  his  complaint. 

677.  Heads  :  appositive  to  '  the  common  rout  of  men.' 

683.  their  highth  of  noon  :  the  meridian  of  their  glory. 

684.  Changest  thy  countenance :  a  similar  expression,  but  with  a  dif- 
ferent meaning,  to  that  in  Job  xiv.  20:  'Thou  changest  his  (man's) 
countenance,  and  sendest  him  away.' 

686.  or  them  to  thee  of  service  :  or  of  service  (from)  them  to  thee. 

690.  Unseemly :  unbecoming  in  human  eye  ;  '  falls '  is  a  noun  in 
apposition  to  the  preceding  thought,  '  thou  throwest  them  lower  than  thou 
didst  exalt  them  high.' 

695-702.  Or  to  the  unjust  tribunals  :  there  has  been  an  occult  reference 
all  through  this  chorus  to  the  wreck  of  the  Puritan  cause  by  the  Restora- 
tion; but  in  these  lines  the  reference  becomes  distinct.  Milton  has  the 
trials  of  Vane  and  the  Regicides  in  his  mind.  He  himself  had  been  in 
danger  of  the  law;  and,  though  he  had  escaped,  it  was  to  a  'crude  (pre- 
mature) old  age,'  afflicted  by  painful  diseases  from  which  his  temperate 
life  might  have  been  expected  to  exempt  him.  —  Masson. 

699.  deformed :  attended  with  deformity. 

700.  crude:  premature. 

701.  disordinate  :  inordinate,  irregular;  yet  suffering  without  cause. 
707.    What:    the   word   here,  perhaps,  means  'why.'     The   following 

question  seems  to  support  this. 

715.  Tarsus:  i.e.  Tarshish,  which  Milton  avoided  from  his  dislike  to 
the  sound  sh.  He  seems  to  have  agreed  with  those  who  thought  that 
Tarshish  was  Tarsus  in  Cilicia,  instead  of  Tartessus  in  Spain.  In  the  Bible, 
'ships  of  Tarshish'  signify  large  sea-going   vessels  in  general;    the  iles, 


298  NOTES 

etc. :  i.e.  the  isles  and  coasts  of  Greece  and  Lesser  Asia ;  Javan  (pr. 
Yawari)  is  'idoves,  "luves,  the  Ionians.  As  these  were  the  best  known 
of  the  Greeks  in  the  south,  their  name  was  given  to  the  whole  people, 
just  as  the  Greeks  themselves  called  all  the  subjects  of  the  king  of 
Persia,  Medes  ;    Gadire  :  TaSeipa,  Gades,  Cadiz.  —  Keightley. 

717.  bravery  :  finery,  ornament;  trim  :  shipshape,  in  good  order. 

719.  hold them  play  :  keep  them  in  play. 

720.  An  amber  scent :  an  ambergris  scent. 
731.  makes  address  :  prepares. 

732  et  sea.  'The  student  will  notice  how  thoroughly  Euripidean  the 
whole  of  the  following  scene  is,  not  merely  in  the  fact  that  two  of  the 
dramatis  persona  are  pitted  dialectically  against  one  another,  but  in 
the  cast  of  the  language  and  in  the  quality  of  the  sentiment.'  — John 
Churton  Collins. 

748.  hycena :  *  a  creature  somewhat  like  a  wolf,  and  is  said  to 
imitate  a  human  voice  so  artfully  as  to  draw  people  to  it,  and  then  devour 
them. 

"  Tis  thus  the  false  hyaena  makes  her  moan, 
To  draw  the  pitying  traveller  to  her  den; 
Your  sex  are  so,  such  false  dissemblers  all." 

—  Thomas  Otway's  Orphan,  A.  ii. 

Milton  applies  it  to  a  woman,  but  Otway  to  the  men.'  —  Newton. 

760,  761.  not  to  reject  the  penitent :  an  obvious  allusion  to  Milton's  for- 
giveness of  his  first  wife,  after  her  two  years'  abandonment  of  him. 

803.  That  made  for  me:  helped  my  purpose  (i.e.  to  keep  you  from 
leaving  me  as  you  did  her  at  Timna). 

842.  Or:  Keightley  suspects  that  'or'  should  be  'and'  here,  as 
'  or '  does  not  connect  well  with  what  precedes. 

868.  respects:  considerations;  ' there's  the  respect  that  makes  calamity 
of  so  long  life.'  —  Hamlet,  III.  i.  68,  69. 

906.  peals  :  peals  of  words.     See  1.  235. 

932>  933-  trains, gins,  toils:  these  words  all  express  modes  of  entrap- 
ping any  one  or  anything. 

934.  thy  fair  enchanted  cup  :  an  allusion  to  Circe  and  the  Sirens. 

948.  gloss :  comment,  construe. 

950.   To  thine  :  compared  to  thine. 

988,  989.  in  mount  Ephraim  Jael :  Judges  iv.  5. 

990.  Smote  Sisera  :  Judges  v.  26. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  299 

1016.  thy  riddle :  Judges  xiv.  12-19;  in  one  day  or  seven:  connect 
with  '  harder  to  hit.' 

1018.  If  any  of  these,  or  all:  if  it  be  any  or  all  of  these  qualities, 
virtue,  wisdom,  valor,  etc.,  that  can  win  or  long  inherit  (possess)  woman's 
love,  the  Timnian  bride  had  not  so  soon  preferred  thy  paranymph  (brides- 
man).    Judges  xiv.,  xv. 

1022.  Nor  both  :  nor  both  wives;  disallied :  severed. 

1025.  for  that:  because. 

1025-1060.  Is  it  for  that  such  outward  ornament :  the  ideas  expressed 
in  these  verses,  it  must  be  admitted,  were  too  much  Milton's  own,  in 
regard  to  woman,  as  his  Divorce  pamphlets  show. 

1030.   affect:  like. 

1037.  Once  joined :  i.e.  in  marriage. 

1038.  far  within  :  a  thorn  in  the  flesh,  a  cleaving  mischief,  deep 
beneath  defensive  armor;  these  may  be  an  allusion  to  the  poisoned  shirt 
sent  to  Hercules  by  his  wife  Deianira. 

1048.  combines  :  i.e.  with  her  husband. 

1057.  lour  :  frown,  or  look  sullen. 

1062.  contracted :  drawn  together,  gathered. 

1068.  Harapha  of  Gath  :  see  under  1079. 

1069.  pile :  the  giant's  body  is  spoken  of  as  a  pile,  or  large,  proudly 
towering  building. 

1073.  habit:  dress. 

1075.  His  fraught:  the  freight  of  commands  or  whatever  else  he  is 
charged  with.     The  word  seems  to  be  used  contemptuously. 

1076.  chance :  fate. 

1079.  Men  call  me  Harapha :  '  No  such  giant  is  mentioned  by  name 
in  Scripture;  but  see  2  Sam.  xxi.  16-22.  The  four  Philistine  giants  men- 
tioned there  are  said  to  be  sons  of  a  certain  giant  in  Gath  called  "  the 
giant";  and  the  Hebrew  word  for  "the  giant"  there  is  Rapha  or  Hara- 
pha. Milton  has  appropriated  the  name  to  his  fictitious  giant,  whom  he 
makes  out  in  the  sequel  ( 1 248,  1 249)  to  be  the  actual  father  of  that  brood 
of  giants.'  —  Masson. 

1080.  Og,  or  Anak :  see  Deut.  iii.  It,  ii.  10,  and  Gen.  xiv.  5. 

1081.  Thou  know1  st  me  now  :  so  in  '  P.  L.,'  iv.  830 : 

'  Not  to  know  me  argues  yourselves  unknown.' 
109 1.  taste:  to  make  trial  of;  Fr.  later,  OF.  taster ; 


300  NOTES 

'he  now  began 
To  taste  the  bow,  the  sharp  shaft  took,  tugg'd  hard,'  etc. 

—  Chapman's  Homer's  Od.>  xxi.  21 1. 

1092.  single  me :  challenge  me  to  single  combat.  —  Keightley. 

1093.  Gyves :  handcuffs. 

1 105.  In  thy  hand :  in  thy  power. 

1 109.  assassinated :  cruelly  abused  or  maltreated.  The  word  is  so  used 
in  Milton's  '  Doctrine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce,'  Book  I.  c.  xii. 

1 1 1 3.  close-banded :  secretly  leagued.  —  Dr.  Johnson. 

1 1 16.  without  feigned  shifts:  without  any  pretended  considerations 
for  my  blindness. 

1 1 18.  Or  rather  flight :  a  cutting  phrase,  implying  that  otherwise  the 
giant  may  seek  safety  in  flight,  if  they  were  not  in  '  some  narrow  place 
enclosed.' 

1120,1121.  brigandine :  coat  of  armor  for  the  body;  habergeon: 
armor  for  neck  and  shoulders;  Vant- brace :  (avant  bras)  armor  for  the 
arms;  greaves :  leg  armor;  gauntlet:  (gant)  glove  of  mail. 

1 1 22.  A  weaver's  beam :  I  Sam.  xvii.  5-7  was  in  Milton's  mind 
in  lines  1119-1122.  'And  he  [Goliath]  had  an  helmet  of  brass  upon 
his  head,  and  he  was  armed  with  a  coat  of  mail;  .  .  .  And  he  had 
greaves  of  brass  upon  his  legs,  and  a  target  of  brass  between  his  shoulders. 
And  the  staff  of  his  spear  was  like  a  weaver's  beam;'  .  .  . 

1 132.  had  not  spells:  'taken  from  the  ritual  of  the  combat  in  chiv- 
alry. When  two  champions  entered  the  lists,  each  took  an  oath  that  he 
had  no  charm,  herb,  or  any  enchantment  about  him.'  —  T.   Warton. 

1 1 64.  boisterous:  strong,  powerful? 

1 1 69.  thine:  thy  people? 

1 181.    Tongue- doughty  :  tongue-valiant. 

1 1 86.  thirty  i?ien  :  Judges  xiv.  19. 

1 195.  politician  lords  :  lords  of  your  state. 

1 197.  spies:  Judges  xiv.  10-18.  'Milton  follows  Jewish  tradition 
in  supposing  the  thirty  bridal  friends  there  mentioned  to  have  been  spies 
appointed  by  the  Philistines.'  —  Masson. 

1202.  wherever  chanced :  i.e.  wherever  by  chance  met  with. 

1 219.  not  all  your  force :  the  ellipsis  is,  would  have  disabled  me. 

1220.  These  shifts:  the  charges  made  by  Harapha  of  his  being  'a 
murderer,  a  revolter,  and  a  robber ';   appellant :    challenger. 

1223.  enforce  :  demand  of  strength. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  301 

1224.    With  thee:    (fight)  with  thee  ? 

1 23 1.  Baal-zebub :  the  god  of  Ekron.     2  Kings  i.  16. 

1 238.  bulk  without  spirit  vast :   vast  bulk  without  spirit. 

1242.  Astaroth  :  the  Phoenician  goddess. 

1243.  braveries  :   bravadoes. 
1266.  mine:  my  end. 
1274.  Hardy:   bold. 

1292.  Either  of  these  :  'might '  or  'patience.' 

1309.  remark  him  :   plainly  mark  him. 

131 7.  heartened:  encouraged,  emboldened. 

1334.  Myself:  regard  myself,  do  you  say?  No,  my  conscience  and 
internal  peace  I  regard.  Keightley  and  Masson  both  place  an  (  !  )  instead 
of  an  (?  ).  But  'myself  requires  to  be  uttered  with  an  inquiring  surprise, 
and  should  be  followed  by  an  (  ?  ) . 

1346.  stoutness:  firm  refusal. 

1369.  the  sentence  holds:  the  sentence,  'outward  acts  defile  not,' 
holds  good,  where  outward  force  constrains. 

1375.  which  •'  represents  what  precedes,  '  If  I  obey  ...  set  God 
behind.' 

1377.  dispense  with:  pardon.  'Milton  here  probably  had  in  view 
the  story  of  Naaman  the  Syrian,  begging  a  dispensation  of  this  sort  from 
Elisha,  which  he  seemingly  grants  him.'  See  2  Kings  v.  18,  19. — 
Thyer. 

1397.  as:  used  after  'such'  to  introduce  a  result,  instead  of  *that,» 
as  in  present  English;  not  uncommon  in  Shakespeare,  Bacon,  and  other 
writers  of  the  time  and  later. 

1 399.  to  try  :  to  test. 

1408.    Yet  this  be  sure  :  looks  back  to  '  I  am  content  to  go.' 

1418-1422.  Lords  are  lordliest :  '  in  this  passage  may  be  detected  a  refer- 
ence to  England  in  Milton's  time.'  —  Masson. 

1435.  that  Spirit  that  first  rushed  on  thee :  '  a  young  lion  roared 
against  him.  And  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  came  mightily  upon  him,  and 
he  rent  him  as  he  would  have  rent  a  kid.'  — Judges  xiv.  5,  6. 

1450.  /  had  no  will :  i.e.  to  go  thither. 

1455.   That  hope  :  to  partake  that  hope  with  thee  would  much  rejoice  us. 

1461-1471.  Some  much  averse  I  found :  the  different  shades  of  feeling 
among  the  men  in  power  in  England  after  the  Restoration  may  be  sup- 
posed to  be  glanced  at  in  this  passage  :  obstinate  and  revengeful  Royalism, 
strongest  among  the  High  Church  party;   and  so  on.  —  Masson. 


302  NOTES 

1470.  The  rest:  to  remit  the  rest  was  magnanimity. 

1471.  convenient:  fitting.     Lat.  conveniens,  coming  together. 
1474.    7Hffr  once  great  dread:  former  object  of  their  great  dread. 

15 1 2.  whole  inhabitation:  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  world,  as  is 
indicated  by  '  universal  groan.' 

1 5 14.  ruin  :  down  crashing. 

1529.  dole:  grief,  sorrow;  'dealing  dole'  is  not  a  case  of  the  cog- 
nate accusative,  as  it  is  understood  by  some  critics. 

1538.  baits:  literally,  stops  for  refreshment;   in  a  general  sense,  tarries. 

1551.  concerned  in:  connected  with. 

1554.  needs:  is  necessary. 

1557.  tell  us  the  sum  :  the  main  fact,  defer  what  accompanied  it. 

1 581.  glorious:  used  proleptically. 

1594.  eye-zuilness :  ocular  testimony. 

1599.  high  street:  main  or  principal  street;   so,  highway,  high  seas. 

1608.  sort:  rank. 

1610.  banks:  benches. 

1619.  cataphracts :  heavy-armed  cavalry  soldiers,  whose  horses  as 
well  as  themselves  were  covered  with  a  complete  suit  of  mail  armor. 
Gr.  KaTd(ppaKTos,  covered;  spears:  spearmen. 

1 621.  rifted:  split. 

1625.  assayed :  tried. 

1626.  still:  ever. 

1 67 1.  And  fat  regorged:  Keightley  explains,  'and  the  fat  of  bulls 
and  goats  was  regorged  by  them  who  had  eaten  too  much.'  This,  along 
with  the  preceding  and  the  following  verse,  gives  a  Miltonic  sublimity  of 
the  disgusting  to  the  passage.  But  the  prefix  '  re-'  is,  perhaps,  simply 
intensive,  and  '  regorged '  may  mean  gorged,  or  swallowed,  voraciously. 
The  construction  is,  '  And  (while  they,  '  they '  being  implied  in  '  their,' 
above)  fat  regorged  of  bulls  and  goats,  .  .  .  Among  them  he  (our  living 
Dread)  a  spirit  of  phrenzy  sent.' 

1674.  Silo:  Shiloh.  Joshua  xviii.  I,  Judges  xxi.  19.  'He  probably 
terms  it  bright,  on  account  of  the  Shekinah  which  was  supposed  to  rest  on 
the  ark.'  —  Keightley. 

1688.  and  thought  extinguished  quite:  this  phrase  is  understood  by 
some  as  a  nominative  absolute  (the  Latin  ablative  absolute),  thought  hav- 
ing been  quite  extinguished;  but  'thought'  is  rather  a  past  participle 
referring  to  '  he ' :  thought  to  be  entirely  extinguished. 

1692.  as  an  evening  dragon  came :  '  he '  (Samson)  is  the  subject  of 


SAMSON  AGONISTES  303 

'came';  he  came  among  the  Philistines  as  an  evening  dragon  comes  on 
tame  farmhouse  fowl,  but  afterward  bolted  his  cloudless  thunder  on  their 
heads,  as  an  eagle. 

1699.  that  self-begotten  bird :  the  phoenix. 

1 700.  embost :  enclosed  in  a  wood. 

1 702.  erewhile :  for  some  time  before ;  holocaust :  a  whole  burnt 
offering. 

1703.  teemed :  brought  forth. 

1704.  revives  :  the  subject  is  '  Virtue,'  1697. 

1707.  A  secular  bird :  a  bird  living  for  generations.     Lat.  sacula. 

1 71 3.  sons  of  Caphtor  :  the  Philistines, '  originally  of  the  island  Caphtor 
or  Crete.  A  colony  of  them  settled  in  Palestine  and  there  went  by  the 
name  of  Philistim.'  —  Meadowcourt,  in  Todd's  Var.  Ed.  of  Milton. 

1733.  Home  to  his  father's  house  :  see  Judges  xvi.  31. 

1753.  band  them  :  unite  themselves. 

1755.  acquist :  acquisition. 


14  DAY  USE 

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■I?  67 -fiPiv 


OCT  1  6  1967  2  6 


RECEIVED 


°CT1 7 '6/.,. 


m     JUPJ18 1963  15 


IREC^&UJ    JKJU  13*66 -SAM 


DEC     11969  15, 


LD  21A-60m-7,*66 
(G4427sl0)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

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